


Under Construction

by SassyEggs



Series: Under Construction [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU where Sansa agrees to help a friend with a home renovation, not knowing just how hard it will be.</p><p>"'Kill him with kindness,' that's what mother would say.  And if ever there was someone Sansa wanted to kill, it was THIS guy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so yeah, like a lot of you guys I don't really get into modern AUs. But this one latched on to me several weeks ago and wouldn't let go, so I figured I may as well write it down.
> 
> This is a self-indulgent vanity piece. It is slow going but eventually becomes quite the fluffy bunny. So much fluffs. I don't really expect a lot of people to get into it, but here it is, in all it's modern fluffy glory.

Sansa walked in through the kitchen door and threw her keys on the counter before opening the fridge and grabbing a lemonade.

“Sansa?  Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” she shouted back, and wandered into the living room to find her roommate.  She was sitting on the couch with her boyfriend, a bottle of champagne and glasses in front of them.

“Hey,” Margaery chirped, frantically waving her over.  “Come here, come help us celebrate.”

Cold dread trickled into Sansa's heart as she took the glass Margaery offered her.  “Celebrate?  What… are we celebrating?” she asked nervously, glancing down at her friend’s ring finger.  _Dear God, are they…_

“Bronn bought a house!”

“Oh,” Sansa sighed, more relieved than she'd like to admit, and turned her eyes towards Bronn.  “Congratulations.”

“Thanks!” he said cheerfully.  “But it’s not as exciting as Margie makes it out.  The place is a dump, it’ll take forever to fix it up properly.”

“But it’s in a great location,” Margaery added.  “And it has a lot of space, and they got _such_ a good deal, right honey?”

“Well, yeah, that’s true.  But it’s a dump, remember?”

“Congratulations anyway,” Sansa interjected.  “That’s very exciting.”

“Isn’t it?” Margaery asked.  “They’re going to start renovating on Monday, a total gut-job, everything is getting torn out, going to be a ton of work, _and I haven’t even told you the best part!”_   She looked like she was going to jump right out of her skin she was so giddy.  “We get to help!”

Sansa just blinked at her friend.  “I’m still waiting for you to tell me the best part.”

“That _is_ the best part!” Margaery pouted. 

Bronn leaned in.  “I told her you wouldn’t go for it, but you know how she gets.”

_I sure do._

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Margaery started whining.  “We’re always talking about how we need to learn this stuff, and now we have the chance and you don’t _want_ to?” 

“Margie…” Sansa started to protest but then just gave up.  “What is it you want me to do?”

“We’re starting on Monday,” Bronn said.  “Bright and early.”

“But it’s my last week before school starts,” she complained to her roommate.  “And my birthday’s next Sunday…” 

Margaery stood up and gave her a haughty look.  “Will you help me get snacks from the kitchen please?”

Sansa rolled her eyes as Margaery breezed by her, then turned to follow her into the kitchen.  When they got there, her friend turned on her and crossed her arms.

“How many times have we talked about buying a house together?” she asked pointedly.

“Lots of times,” Sansa admitted.

“And how many times have we actually _looked_ at houses to buy?”

“Lots of times,” she repeated.

“And how does that always end?”

Sansa sighed.  “In raging disappointment.” 

Sansa had lived with Margaery for nearly three years now, and every time their lease was up they’d start talking about buying a house instead.  It was a smart investment, they’d tell each other.  A tax write-off, and usually cheaper in the long run.  Not to mention that it just seemed so grown-up and responsible. 

So every year, they’d plop down in front of the computer and start looking at houses.  Unfortunately, with their limited means, the only houses they could ever hope to afford were all dumps.  And while some of them looked like they only needed cosmetic help, Margaery and Sansa had exactly zero renovation experience between them and always wound up just renewing the lease, another year down and another dream gone.

“Classes start in a week,” Sansa tried again.  “And I kinda wanted to relax my last week of summer.  And my birthday is next Sunday and I already have plans.”

“You don’t have to come next Sunday, just come the rest of the week.  It’s only six days.  You’ve done absolutely nothing this summer already.  You can do this, Sansa, it won’t kill you.”

That was true- she really _hadn’t_ done anything this summer.  And since _when_ was she able to say no to Margaery on anything?  She looked into the eyes of her best friend and roommate and knew she was going to lose this.  “I will _think_ about it.  And let you know tomorrow.” 

Margaery squeed and hugged her, then pulled her back into the living room.  They hadn’t actually gotten any snacks, but if Bronn noticed he didn’t let on.

“Hey honey,” he stood.  “I’m gonna get going.”

“So soon?”

“Yeah, long day.  But I’ll see you Monday?”

“You will see us _both_ on Monday,” she sniffed.

Bronn looked at Sansa; Sansa rolled her eyes.  “It’s really ok if you don’t want to help, San, I completely understand.  Hell, I don’t even want to help, and it’s _my_ house.”

She couldn’t help but smile.  Bronn had only been in the picture for six months now, and at first Sansa was pretty unsure about him.  He just had this air about him that screamed ‘player,’ and she was worried her friend had been taken in by some gold-digging lothario.  But since then, he’d proven himself to be funny and kind and really good with Margaery.  Sansa liked him.

“I promised her I would _think_ about it.”

But it was hopeless, she knew.  She knew it as soon as Bronn was gone and they were once again in front of the computer searching for houses.  They’d done this so many times that they barely had to talk about their parameters, things like bedrooms and bathrooms and location and price were agreed upon long ago.

As usual, there were a lot of options that popped up, nearly all of them terrible.  A majority were in iffy locations, some were just way too small.  There were a few that were in the right place, and had the right space, but only one that caught their eyes.  It was fairly nondescript and easy to overlook, but somehow they both pointed to it.

It was in a great location… and it was well within their price range… and it was a complete disaster.  Sansa loved it immediately.  The yard was just the right size to be cute without being too much work, there was more space inside than they currently had, the layout seemed decent.  And oh, but the details were _wonderful_.  She wasn’t good with things like decorating, but even she could see beauty in the high ceilings, wood bannister, and elegant stained-glass windows.  She couldn’t believe no one had bought it yet, but there it sat, languishing on the market for 147 days.    

“This is it,” Margaery said with finality.  “This is our new house.  And now we just need to learn how to fix it, but hey, we can do that on Monday.”

“I will tell you _tomorrow_ ,” Sansa repeated for the hundredth time. But when she crawled under her covers that night the only dreams that came were of that house, and she knew she would do what Margaery asked.

 

Picset by the fabulous LadyCyprus, who flatters me way more than I deserve  :-)


	2. Monday- Demolition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets her reluctant mentor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa- pretty and girly, smart and capable, courteous to a fault. Age 23.  
> Sandor- mean ugly jerk. Age 30.

 

Monday morning, Sansa dutifully dressed for her day at Bronn’s new house and drove her and Margaery there at a respectable 8am. 

“Hey, you came,” Bronn said cheerfully when they arrived.  “Didn’t think you’d actually go for it.”

Sansa laughed.  “Well, Margie can be very persuasive.”

“Don’t I know it,” he grumbled.  “Come on in, I’ll introduce you to Sandor and you can get right to work.”

_"Who?"_

Bronn smiled at her.  "My buddy Sandor.  We bought the house together.  Didn't I mention that?"

She followed reluctantly behind him, casting a confused look back at Margaery who only waved cheerfully in response.  “Are we not all working together?”

“Nah, we’ll split up, you’ll learn more this way,” he said confidently. 

It wasn’t really what she was hoping for, or what she was promised, but she still went with Bronn into the house, past the living room and into a bedroom.  There, hunched down in the corner doing heaven knows what, was the most enormous man Sansa had ever seen.  Even from his current position she could tell that his shoulders were ridiculously broad, his back absurdly muscular.  He had long, almost-black hair hanging loosely to the side.

“Hey, man,” Bronn called out as they entered the room.  “Brought you some help.  Sansa, this is Sandor.  Sandor, this is Sansa.  She’s gonna be your little assistant this week.”

And then that great big beast of a man stood up and turned around.

Sansa gasped and flinched so violently that she actually fell backwards into the wall.  But it wasn’t her fault, not really; it was _his_ fault.  He was like something out of a nightmare.  One half of his face was gaunt and scowling, which was already unpleasant in and of itself.  But the _other_ half was covered in angry red scars, the skin puckered and drawn tight, glistening in a way that drew attention to the deep ridges of muscle and tendon in his jaw.  And that jaw, geez, she thought she could see bone through a hole in the skin.  It was hideous, like something from a horror movie.  In fact, she was pretty sure Jon had worn a mask just like that for Halloween one year.  And she was supposed to _work_ with this man?  God help her.

She forced her gaze from him and she wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought she heard him growl.  Then Bronn, who Sansa decided that she longer liked, excused himself.

“Well, Margie and I are hitting the Depot, gimme a call if you need anything.  Y’all have fun!”

And just like that, she found herself alone with who she was absolutely certain was probably a serial killer.  Because… his _size_ … and his _scowl_ … and his _face_ …  She’d seen tall guys before, of course, but this guy seemed broader, somehow, and… denser?  Was that possible?  He just seemed so enormous, but not in an obese way, more in a I-can-snap-you-in-half way.

Or so she _thought_.  Truth was, she was going off memory because she couldn’t look at him again.  Maybe he wasn’t as big as her imagination made him, maybe she was just too distracted by his disfigurement.  She glanced quickly in his direction.  Nope.  Definitely huge.

She took a few breaths to calm herself, but flinched again when he finally spoke.

“What do _you_ do?”  Oh, god, he was talking to her and she still couldn’t even look at him.    

“Um… I’m a… student.” 

“Of course you are,” he muttered under his breath.  Was he trying to make her feel bad for being a student?  Because that would be unfair.  But she could hear him walking towards her and any thought of protesting completely evaporated.  There was something about his very presence that made her feel so terribly insignificant.

“Do you know anything about construction?”  Ugh, even his voice was awful, it sounded like stone scraping against ice.

“No,” she mumbled to his gigantic brown boots.  She knew she should look at him, knew that her behavior was downright deplorable.  She could feel the heat of his gaze weighing heavily on her, reminding her that she was being rude, but she just couldn’t make herself look up. 

“Let me see your hands.”

Sansa immediately obeyed and brought both dainty hands in front of her, suddenly self-conscious of her sparkly pink nail-polish.  After a moment, she saw his two huge hands grab hers and flip them over before dropping his own to the side again. 

“I bet you’ve never worked a day in your life.” 

 _So?_   She wanted to challenge him on it, tell him she was a good worker even if she never got paid for it, but she didn’t.  Instead, she took a deep breath, drew herself up taller, and bravely raised her eyes to somewhere in the middle of his enormous chest.

“ _Have_ you?” he barked. 

“No,” she admitted.

“Well, _lucky you,”_ he sneered, backing away.  “You’re gonna get dirty,” he told her, almost mockingly.  She crossed her arms and looked out the door of the bedroom, wondering what Margaery was doing.  She’s probably having fun, probably giggling at some joke Bronn was telling.    

She saw him gesture at her before he spoke.  “Are these the best clothes you could think of for working in?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she protested, daring a quick look in the area over his shoulder but nowhere near his face. 

He snorted loudly, as if that was the dumbest question he had ever heard in his life.  “You’ll figure it out.  Maybe.”  Then he turned and walked away from her, resuming whatever task he was doing in the corner when she showed up.

 _Well, this is going to be great fun._ This guy was as friendly as he was handsome, and it was all she could do to keep herself from leaving.  He’d probably like that.  But where would she go?  Just out to the front lawn and wait for Margaery to come back?  And then say what?  That she didn’t want to work with him because he was mean to her?  That would be… well, a little lame. 

She’d dealt with mean people before, and always had a way to make them come around.  She was a naturally friendly girl, everyone said so, and her kind and courteous demeanor had always been her best weapon.  Kill them with kindness, her mother always said, and it had always worked.  So surely she could cope with _this_ awkward situation just by being friendly.  Shaking her head, she resolved to stay, resolved to learn, resolved to be nice and patient even if this guy was… not. 

“So, um… what are we doing today?” she hazarded, tripping over the word ‘we’. 

He stopped for a moment as if he was surprised she was still there, then glanced over his shoulder to answer, showing her the ruined side of his face.  _Did he do that on purpose?_   She blinked and looked away quickly and hoped he didn’t notice.  “Demolition.” 

OK, so that probably meant they were breaking down all the stuff in this room, right?  She peeked through the door of the horribly outdated bathroom- the blue tiles and matching blue toilet, the hopelessly chipped tub, the sagging ceiling tiles.  It was a lot of stuff.  She looked over at the beast in the corner, took in his old t-shirt, long khaki pants, and work boots.  In comparison, she was wearing a tank top, some running shorts, and a pair of Keds.  It had seemed perfectly reasonable when she got dressed, but now… well, not so much.  But it couldn’t be helped, really; this was all she had.

Without saying a single word, the giant stood and walked into the bathroom, reached up, and started yanking the whole ceiling down.  Sansa gasped loudly- again- but he didn’t seem at all fazed by the storm of debris raining on his head.  After the entire thing was down, he picked up damaged ceiling tiles and tossed them into the trash can in the bedroom; Sansa followed his lead and did the same.

And so it continued for the rest of the morning- he would destroy something, and then they would pick it up and throw it away.  _Everything_ was going- the toilet, the bathtub, the shower doors, the vanity- all of it.  It was like a war zone.  He carried the biggest pieces out to a dumpster in the driveway, and she would fill up a trash can and empty it herself when it got full.

He removed some of the pieces- like the tub- with a sledge hammer.  Did he warn her before he swung that thing?  No, he did not, but at least he managed not to hit her when she flitted around after him picking up whatever he’d demolished. 

She figured out pretty quickly why wearing pants would have been wise, because every swing of his hammer sent shards of porcelain flying everywhere.  She got a ton of tiny cuts on her arms and legs, but if he noticed her bleeding he never let on.  That she knew of.  She really wouldn’t know because she couldn’t look at his face.

She emptied the trash can into the dumpster for the umpteenth time and tried to figure out exactly why he was being so… _dismissive_.  They’d been at this for hours and he’d ignored her the entire time, even though she’d given him no reason to be rude.  She was a hard worker, but did he appreciate it?  No, he did not.         

Hauling the can back inside, she wondered if things might get better when demolition was over.  But when she got back to the bedroom, she found him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, taking notes or something, and blocking the door like a great big muscular wall.

“Can I get by?” she asked cheerfully.

“No, I want to do this before lunch.”

“Ok, well, do you need me to do something?”

“Why don’t you let me figure this out, and _you_ can go get me something to eat?” he jeered, turning so she could see the left side of his dumb face.

Wha…?  Was that some kind of get-in-the-kitchen-and-make-me-a-sandwich joke?  Judging by his mocking tone, she would guess yes.

Sansa crossed her arms and slit her eyes, glaring at his neck.  “Yeah, that’s not really my _thing._ ”

“What?”

“Making food for people.”

“You don’t know how to _make food?”_ he sneered.  That wasn’t really what she meant, even if it was true, but she stayed silent.  She could feel his gaze on her again, could see his withering glare and lip curled.  “Well damn, woman, I’d be ok with a bag of chips and a Coke.”

She was about to turn and leave him there, but then she realized that he would assume she was actually scurrying off to get him food and she absolutely would not give him that satisfaction.  So she stood there and waited a while, just to spite him.  And _then_ she left. 

Standing alone in the kitchen she finally felt a little bit of relief, which intensified when Margaery and Bronn showed up with lunch.

“Hey, Sansa, you hungry?” Bronn called to her.

She was starving, and gratefully accepted the container Margaery handed her.  Then the three of them sat cross-legged on the floor eating their sandwiches from Panera while Sansa told them how incredibly dirty and difficult demolition was, grateful that Sandor had apparently decided to eat his lunch alone in the bedroom.  And then she asked Margaery about _her_ morning. 

“Well, first we went to Home Depot but Bronn didn’t like the paint colors they had, which was crazy, they had so many!  So we went to Sherwin Williams, and then we went to this counter-top place to order granite for the kitchen, and then we went to Ace to look at knobs, and then we went and got lunch.”

She’d be a liar if she said she didn’t feel a little betrayed.  “So you’ve been _shopping_ all morning?”

“Geez, Sansa, you make it sound like I’ve done nothing but goof off.  Do you know your legs are bleeding?”

After lunch was more of the same, gathering up bits of whatever and hauling it outside to the dumpster.  He handled all the truly big pieces, at least, and she did the rest, picking her way through twisted metal and crumbled concrete and trying not to get bloody.  Or _more_ bloody.

He was hands down the rudest person she had ever met, she didn’t think she’d ever felt so dismissed in her entire life.  He never ever gave her any kind of instructions, so she basically just did whatever she thought might be helpful.   He kept his back to her more often than not, which meant she didn’t have to see his face, at least, but he cursed indiscriminately and as often as possible.

It wasn’t just that he was rude, either- he was also disgusting.  He grunted like a barnyard animal, every single time he did something.  He would chew at his fingers then spit the nail out haphazardly.  Whenever he hauled something outside to the dumpster he’d snort and spit on the ground and she’d have to step around it.  Once, he stood up and let out the loudest wettest burp she’d ever heard and didn’t even bother to say ‘excuse me’.  But worst of all was how he would reach down and scratch or rearrange himself right in front of her, as if she wasn’t even there.   

And then it occurred to her that that was _exactly_ what he was doing:  acting like she wasn’t there.  He was sending her a message, she was certain, but if anything it just made her double her efforts at being friendly and helpful.  Darn it, she would _make_ him appreciate her!

She watched him bring in a jack hammer- she knew what _that_ was- and plug it in.  Obviously he was going to start ripping up the floor, but he was standing in the doorway again and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

“Do you need me to do anything?”

“Why don’t you go clean the half-bath or something?  You can handle that.”

What?  Why would he…?  Oh.  Ohhhhhh, now she got it.  He was one of those backwards-thinking slack-jawed cavemen, beating his chest and trying to assert his dominance over her.  She supposed she should count herself lucky that he didn’t drag her around by her hair.

“Yeah, well, cleaning isn’t really my _thing.”_

He turned quickly and glared, looking down on her both literally and figuratively.  “How the fuck can you get through life without _cleaning_ anything?” he sneered at her. 

That wasn’t what she meant, but that was beside the point, she felt, so she didn’t answer.  She also didn’t go clean the half bath.  No, she would be staying right here, doing everything he did, just to prove that she could handle it.  Jerk.

She stood cross-armed just outside the bathroom, watching him with the jackhammer.  When he finally moved from blocking the door, she started picking up the pieces she could reach and carrying them outside.  It was slow-going, and she spent most of the time just standing around, but at least she didn’t have to talk to him.  Or look at him.  But geez, it was so boring! 

Sansa and Margaery split a pork fried rice for dinner, sitting cross-legged on the floor again and swapping stories about their day.  Bronn had decided to not rip _anything_ out of his bathroom, which meant they were just swapping out fixtures and painting.  It sounded like heaven compared to Sansa’s day, but she didn’t complain because she didn’t want Bronn to hear.

Sandor did not eat with them; Sansa did not care.

After dinner, she finished sweeping up the bathroom debris while Sandor turned his attention to the bedroom.  Just like the bathroom, it appeared that everything was being ripped out- closet doors, blinds, light fixtures, carpet- everything except the walls.  By now it seemed that he was used to her picking up after him, and instead of throwing items away himself he would just lob them in her direction.  Which was not at all amusing.  It was bad enough that he threw scraps of carpet and pad at her, but even worse when he threw splintered strips of wood and nails.  She bit her tongue and silently glared daggers into the back of his big ugly head, but always picked up whatever garbage he threw at her and dutifully tossed it in the trash can.  The few times she went outside to empty the can felt like stepping into an oasis. 

He hauled the last roll of carpet out himself, and by then the room was completely empty.  And then he stood in the middle of the room taking notes again, and all she could do was stand behind him in silence, waiting patiently for some sort of _clue_ on what to do.

And so it felt impossibly late when Margaery mercifully appeared in the door and said she was ready to go.  Sansa couldn’t be happier to get out of there; she’d had a _terrible_ day.  Before she left, she glanced over at the monster still taking notes.

“Um, bye,” she called out to him with as much friendliness as she could muster.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What for?” 

“To _help,”_ she said in exasperation.

“Help,” he snorted.  “I don’t need help.  Don’t you have a frat party you’d rather go to?”

Oh, he was just the _worst!_   She had just put up with his attitude all day, had wandered around picking up his garbage, and he hadn’t taught her a single thing or uttered a single thank you.  Quite the opposite, actually- he’d done everything he could to let her know she was a nuisance, even though she had just busted her rear end for him.  And now he was trying to degrade her and make her feel bad when she was willing to come back for more?  The.  _Worst_. 

“Have I _done_ something to you?”

“No,” he sneered.

“Then why are you so _hateful?”_

“I’m not hateful.  I just don’t have any use for you.  I don’t know why you’re here, anyway.  Wouldn’t you be happier picking out houseplants or something?”

Geez, he was such a jerk.  “Yeah, well, decorating isn’t really my thing.”

He turned and looked her over before shaking his head.  “You don’t cook, you don’t clean, you don’t decorate… what the fuck are you good for?”

++++++++++++

“I _hate_ him.”

“Sansa, really, ‘hate’ is _such_ a strong word.”

“Sure is,” she shot back.  “But not strong enough, because I _hate_ him.  Hate.  Him.”

Margaery sighed.  “Alright, fine, what did he do?”

“He’s just… awful.  He acted like I wasn’t even there, and _completely_ ignored me.  When he did talk he said the most horrible things- mocked me for never having a job, made fun of my clothes, made all sorts of misogynistic comments.  He’s so….arrrggghh!”

“Misogynistic comments?”  Margaery started laughing.  “Oh, I get it- he’s _scared_ of you.  So obvious.”

“Is that a _joke?_   Why would he be _scared_ of me?”

“Well, he doesn’t really spend a lot of time with girls.”

“You’re kidding- charming fella like him has trouble with the ladies?”

“You know I’m not talking about his personality.”

She _did_ know.  And now that Margaery pointed it out to her, she realized that he probably _did_ have a lot of trouble with girls.  Probably had trouble making friends in the first place.  _That’s not an excuse._

“Maybe if he wasn’t such a jerk, people wouldn’t care how he looks.”

“Or maybe he’s such a jerk because people _DO_ care how he looks.”

Sansa felt a pinch of shame as her memory took her back to that morning, when she first met him, and how she reacted to his appearance.  She hadn’t exactly handled it well.  No wonder he was annoyed with her.  _That’s still not an excuse._  

“He’s so _mean_ , Margie.  I’m sorry he has trouble talking to people or whatever, but I don’t _want_ to spend time with someone that mean.  I can’t put myself through torture just because I feel sorry for him.”   

“Come on, Sansa, I’m not asking you to be best friends with the guy, I’m asking you to _learn_ from him.  Use him for his knowledge, who cares if he’s an asshole?”

“How am I supposed to learn from him when he doesn’t say anything?”

“Did you ask any questions?”

Sansa loved Margaery.  Really.  She was one of the greatest women she’d ever known- smart and funny, kind and honest, logical and grounded and _so normal_.  She usually appreciated her for telling her exactly what she needed to hear.  Usually.  Right now, though, she rather wished she had a catty friend who would tell her what she _wanted_ to hear.    

“No, I didn’t ask any questions,” she admitted reluctantly. 

“Ok, so, now you know he’s not going to just _tell_ you anything, you’re going to have to ask.  I ask Bronn questions all the time.  And don’t worry if he makes you feel bad about it, you’re just trying to learn everything you can so we can buy a house together.  Won’t that be fun?  Focus on the happy ending, girl.”

Sansa sighed heavily, knowing that Margaery would win.  And besides… she was right- it _didn’t_ matter if he was an a-hole.  She’d focused so much on making him like her that she forgot that her whole purpose in being there was to learn.  She wouldn’t make that mistake again.  No longer would she play the meek little side-kick; tomorrow she’d go on the offensive.  He could continue being the biggest jerk in the world, but he _would_ give her what she wanted whether he liked it or not.

“Alright, I’ll try,” she relented.  “One more day, and if I’m just as miserable, then I’m never going back.  And you have to lend me some clothes, since apparently _mine_ are unacceptable.”

Margaery didn’t respond, just leaned over and patted Sansa’s leg sympathetically.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ""Hate' is such a strong word" is something my mother always said. Constantly.
> 
> OK, so this chapter is not as much fun as I promised. But tomorrow's chapter will be fun, not lying this time. If anyone is still sticking around and reading this thing, just stick around a little while longer.
> 
> :-)


	3. Tuesday- Plumbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa fights back. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed a lot of people don't like Margaery- that wasn't my intention. I've always seen her as a "mother hen" type of friend, so that's how I've written her. I think she's a great friend, but not in a "I'll tell you what you want to hear" way, more in a way that makes you try harder. 
> 
> Sandor is mean- he just is, that's his personality. It didn't help that she reacted so poorly to his scars and spends all her time averting her eyes. So he's mean to her. If he wasn't mean, he wouldn't be Sandor. But she will eventually get used to him and he will eventually warm up to her. They just have a pretty big hole to dig out of. But we're getting there, I promise!

Sansa was pretty proud of herself.  She’d borrowed a pair of Margaery’s rattiest jeans and dug an old t-shirt out of her drawer- a light pink shirt she’d gotten free for signing up for a credit card- and now felt like she looked the part of a genuine construction worker.  Well, except for the Keds.  And the French braids.  And alright, maybe construction workers didn’t usually wear pink.  Other than all _that_ she looked like she was ready for work. 

The two friends parted ways when they got to the house, and Sansa bravely went to face her grouchy mentor, Margaery’s words still ringing in her ears as her new mantra.  _Don’t be afraid to ask questions; who cares if he’s an a-hole?_   He was in the bathroom, of course, doing something with a… some sort of tool.

“Good morning,” she sang out when she saw him.

She must have surprised him, because he promptly dropped a piece of the tool in his hands, and it bounced on the floor a few times before disappearing by the wall.

“Fuck,” he spat, then turned and glared at her as if it were her fault.  Sansa just rolled her eyes, because she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, and because she still couldn’t look at his face. 

An impressive stream of curse words colored the air inside that tiny bathroom as he knelt down by the wall to fish out the piece.  Apparently, though, his gigantic hands were giving him a little trouble, and Sansa was… amused.  She’d spent the whole previous day feeling helpless, and seeing him feel the same way was deliciously just.  So she leaned back and watched him for a while, watched him get increasingly frustrated, listened as his expletives became more colorful. 

“Want me to get that?”

He stopped and looked at her, his eyes glancing over her body.  _My outfit, not my body_ , she corrected herself.  He withdrew his hand from the wall but didn’t otherwise move, and Sansa took that as a sign that yes, he wanted her to get that.

She thought he would get out of her way, but he didn’t, didn’t move even a single inch as she positioned herself in front of the wall.  His face was even more horrific up close, but she shut her mind to it, peeking down to find what she was looking for.  She saw a tiny piece of metal, nestled snugly in a layer of debris between two vertical pieces of wood.  Studs, he’d called them yesterday.  Keeping her back to him, she reached down between the studs and plucked the metal up easily and held it up for him between two fingers.

“Well…” he rasped hot against her ear.  “Looks like we found something you’re good for.”

“You’re welcome,” she muttered and stood up, stepping away quickly.  And then she remembered her new mantra.  “What is that, anyway?”

He held out his hands.  “What is _what?”_

“That… thing… that I just picked up.”

“A bit.  For the drill.  You’ve never seen a _bit_ before?”

She didn’t think it was a stupid question but he sure did make her feel bad about it.  He walked over and showed her the bit, which looked teensy tiny in his humongous hand.  No wonder he couldn’t get it.  It looked like just the end part of a screwdriver, and he put it into the drill and tightened it, moving slowly as if he were showing her how to do it.  He didn’t _say_ anything, but he seemed to be answering her question in his own grumpy way.

“So, um… what are we doing today?” she stammered, still tripping over the word ‘we’.

He took a deep breath that to Sansa’s ears sounded annoyed before answering.  “Plumbing, mostly.  But someone’s coming today to blow insulation into the attic so I gotta get the drywall up on the ceiling first.”

She couldn’t help but notice that he said ‘I’ instead of ‘we’ and wondered if that was some sort of message.  “Is that hard?”

“No,” he sneered.

Sansa ran a hand across her hair and crossed her arms.  “Do you… um… need help?”

Another annoyed sigh and a _very_ long pause.  “You can help if you want.” 

Well alright.  Progress.  She followed him into the bedroom to a stack of white boards and helped him carry one of them into the bathroom.  And then she got a full-on lecture.

“OK, listen, cause you don’t want to fuck this up.  We’re going to hold the drywall flush against the ceiling and then I’m going to screw it on.  Once I start fastening my side _you can’t move_.  If you drop it even a little once my side is screwed in it’ll wreck the board.  So don’t move.  Don’t.  Move.  Think you can handle that?”

She nodded quickly even though she’d rather smack him.

“OK, good.  I’ll move as fast as I can but… just don’t fuck it up.”

_Charming._

Sansa climbed the ladder he’d set up in the corner and accepted one side of the drywall he passed to her.  Then they raised the drywall in unison until it was pressed up against the ceiling, a hand planted firmly in each corner.  And that’s when she realized her first mistake.

Margaery’s borrowed jeans were roomy in the waist and hips, a feature that Sansa thought she’d appreciate when she was spending all day bending and lifting.  Except now, with her arms stretched high over her head and her torso elongated, she could feel the jeans slipping down her body.  Her second mistake was that stupid free t-shirt, which was a little too short for her long body.  She was certain her entire stomach was exposed.

“You good?”

“Yes,” she answered, even though she really wasn’t good. 

She heard the drill start as he screwed his side of the drywall into the ceiling, but he wasn’t moving fast enough for her and her low-slung jeans.  _Maybe I can just use one hand._   She slowly started working her hands into the center of the board, hoping to remove one as soon as they met.

 _“Don’t move,”_ he barked.

Sighing, she did as he instructed then closed her eyes, trying to stay calm.  Her jeans were making a steady descent, but as long as he hurried she could wait a little longer.  Besides, he was looking up; he may not even notice.  _Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up._

“Fuck.  Hold on, I dropped the screws.”

_Fantastic._

It didn’t seem to matter _what_ she did- when she exhaled, the jeans inched lower; when she inhaled, the jeans inched lower.  She resolved to not breathe at all, but it seemed even her heartbeat was making the jeans inch lower.  Was her underwear showing?  She hoped it wasn’t, but then realized that the alternative was that her _skin_ was showing, and she didn’t like _that_ at all.  If she waited much longer they may just fall right off her hips entirely.  Good heavens, what was taking him so long?

She opened her eyes and was surprised to find him just _standing_ there watching her, tongue in cheek and horrid face twisted up into something that looked like a smile.  He seemed… _pleased_ at her obvious discomfort.   

Somehow, it was easier to look at him when she was furious.

 _“Hurry.  Up.”_ she hissed through clenched teeth.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” he jeered, even though he wasn’t moving at all.  Then he held his hand out and let the screws slip between his fingers.  “Oops,” he said.  “I’m so fucking clumsy lately.”  And he crouched down slowly to pick up the screws.  Was he _looking_ at her?  Dear God, please no.

Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep brea… no, no breathing!  She just waited for the jerk to hurry up and fasten the drywall before hastily dropping her arms and scurrying down the ladder.  “You can do the rest yourself,” she spat, and stormed out of the room to the sound of his laughter.

Margaery was painting alone in Bronn’s room when Sansa stomped in, and looked positively perplexed by her friend’s anguished expression.  “What’s wrong?”

“Him!” Sansa hissed, pointing out the bedroom door.  “He… we were doing drywall, and I was holding it over my head, and he said I had to stay like that and not move at all or it would break, and my jeans- _your jeans_ -  and… I think he saw my stomach!  _On purpose!”_

Wow.  If she thought _maybe_ it sounded crazy when she said it out loud, Margaery’s raised eyebrow definitely confirmed it.  “He saw your stomach… on purpose.”

“I think so, yeah… but not just saw… it was like… he enjoyed it?  Not my stomach, I mean, but… my face… and he was dawdling.  _On purpose!”_   Margaery narrowed her eyes.  “I guess you had to be there,” Sansa huffed in defeat. 

Margaery wisely chose not to answer. 

“You got to do drywall?” she asked instead; Sansa nodded.  “That’s pretty cool.  Lucky, really.  All I get to do is paint.  Honestly Sansa, this is such a good opportunity, do you really want to squander it because he might have seen your stomach?”

Sansa glared at her friend, wondering when she’d turned traitor.  “Give me your hair ribbon.”

It was something she usually teased her about, Margaery’s insistence on always wearing a hair bow.  But now she was grateful for her friend’s odd habit, and quickly used the ribbon to tie her belt loops together, ensuring a nice, snug, unflattering fit. 

When she stomped back into the demolished bathroom he glanced at her in surprise, and she lifted the hem of her shirt just enough to show him how she’d tied the belt loops together.

“Fixed it,” she snapped, and dropped her shirt with exaggerated emphasis.

He shook his head and turned away.  “I liked the other way better.”

 _The other way?_   She didn’t even want to think about what that meant.  Oh… except he probably meant the way she’d left him alone?  Probably.  But he was stuck with her now, he’d have to get used to it.

It _wasn’t_ hard to drywall the ceiling, he was right about that.  By the time they were done she felt a rush of satisfaction at having accomplished something she’d always assumed was difficult.  And true, he had done nearly all the work, but she had helped.  It was almost enough to make her forget about the earlier incident.  Almost.

She watched him put the drill and screws away, but then he grabbed some tool and started to leave.

“Where are you going?”

He paused a moment and looked at her like he’d forgotten she was there.  “To turn the water off.”

“But the water _is_ off.” 

He took a deep breath and dropped his head to his hand in frustration, which she could plainly see since it was easy to look at him when he covered his face.  Then he looked up at her and she quickly turned away, but not before seeing him crook his finger to tell her to follow him.  So she did, followed him out to the front yard where he kneeled down in the grass, which Sansa thought was strange until she noticed the plastic box embedded in the lawn.  He removed the lid of the box, then reached down with the tool to… do something.

“What is that?”

“What is _what?”_ he snarled.

“Um… that thing… in your hand… but also that other thing, too.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and peered up at her, mouth open in awe.  “This,” he held up the tool, “is a wrench.  Please tell me you’ve heard of it.”

Sansa bit her lip and looked away, but nodded in answer to his question.

“And this,” he pointed to the box, “is how you turn the water off to the house.”

 _“Really?”_   She’d never heard of such a thing, had no idea it was even possible to cut water off to the entire house.

“Yes, _really,”_ he sneered with unhidden irritation.  “Don’t want water in the pipes when you’re doing plumbing, do you?”

She never could tell when he wanted her to answer or when he was just trying to be a jerk, but he was being rude enough that she didn’t mind being rude back.  So she didn’t answer, just sighed and pressed her lips together. 

After he put the lid back on the box, he wandered into the house and into the bathroom, and then he picked up… some other tool… and _cut_ the pipe to the shower head off.  Just cut it clean off!

“What are you _doing?”_ she asked, a little horrified.

He turned and glared at her and she dropped her eyes.  “Gonna make the shower higher.”

“Can you _do_ that?”

_“Yes.”_

“No, I mean… are you _allowed?_   Aren’t there rules and stuff about how high it can be?”

He ran a gigantic hand over his horrid face and turned to her.  “You mean _codes?”_

“Um, ok,” she said uncertainly, because she actually meant rules. 

He took a huge breath and sighed dramatically.  “There are codes for some things, and then yes, you have to do it by code.  But other things are just what we call standard.  Like how high the shower head is.  This here,” he pointed at the shower head, almost at eye-level, “is standard height.  Do you think I can shower under this?”

She didn’t want to think about him showering at all, to be honest, but shook her head anyway.

“Of course not,” he rasped.  “So I’m making it higher, because it’s my fucking shower and I can do whatever the fuck I want.  Does that answer your question?”

She crossed her arms and looked away, but he seemed like he was actually waiting for her to respond so she finally said “yes.”

“Good.  Now, quit your yammering.”

 _Yeah, right._  

As he started his task of moving the shower head, she started asking anything and everything that crossed her mind:  “what’s that white tape for?” and “why are they called pliers?” and “how come some pipes are metal and some are that white plasticy stuff” and “was it necessary to take all the walls down” and “what does ‘blowing insulation’ mean” and “why does the Phillips screwdriver get a fancy name like ‘Phillips’ but the flat one has to just go by ‘flat’?”  But mostly “what are you doing?” and “why are you doing that?”  He did absolutely nothing to hide his irritation but answered all of her questions anyway.  Well, _most_ of them; he didn’t even try to answer her screwdriver question.

She must have overwhelmed him, because eventually he turned to her with a growl.

“If you want to make yourself useful, why don’t you grab a hammer and bang in all those nails stuck in the studs?”

“Why can’t you just _pull_ them out?”

Another scowl and another sigh.  “The heads have been stripped off so there’s nothing to grab onto.  Easier just to drive them in.  Think you can handle that?”

“Sure,” she guessed. 

So he quickly grabbed a hammer and showed her what to do, swinging away at the metal with a resounding BAM BAM BAM until it disappeared into the wood.  But then he handed the task off to her, and when _she_ swung at a nail it said _bink bink bink_ and went nowhere.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered in disgust.  “Haven’t you ever used a hammer before?”

_Actually…._

He snatched the hammer and moved to stand behind her, dangling it over her right shoulder and growling directions in her ear with a low, gravelly voice.

“OK, then, go ahead and wrap your hand around it.  You want to use a good firm grip.  Harder, girl; you’re not gonna break it.  Move your hand lower... a little lower... good.  Now, you can’t just whack away at it.  You want to use sure, even strokes, and try not to bend it, cause if you do then you’ve really fucked it up.  Do you understand?”

Blinking, she glanced over her shoulder in his direction.  “Are we still talking about the hammer?”

For the second time that day she stormed out of the room to the sound of his laughter, for the second time she stomped into Bronn’s room to complain, and for the second time Margaery gave her an admonishing look.

“What now?”

“HIM!” Sansa exclaimed.  “He… the hammer… I had to… hold it…”  She glanced back and forth between Bronn’s baffled expression and Margaery’s stern grimace and knew she’d already lost.  “Arrrhhhh… never mind!”  Then she stomped back to the bathroom of horrors.

He smirked at her when she walked back in but didn’t say a single word, thank heavens.  And she got right to work, holding the hammer with a ‘good firm grip’ and swinging it in ‘sure, even strokes.’  It was slow going, but at least she was actually accomplishing something.

After Sandor was done with the shower, he sat in front of one of the dangling sink faucets and placed a bucket under it.

“What are you doing?”

“Capping these pipes.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“Well, I’m trying to _learn._ ”

He glowered at her with an irritated sigh, and she thought for a moment that he wasn’t going to answer her, but eventually he did.  “Whatever moron did the plumbing in here didn’t put any fucking valves at the sinks so I have no way to turn the water off once I cut it back on to the house.”

“I thought you turned water off with the faucet.”

He gave her a look like that was literally the dumbest thing he had ever heard and she quickly averted her eyes.  “I’m _removing_ the faucets.  And _then_ there’s no way to turn the water off.  I don’t have any extra valves so I’m just gonna cap it for now and pick some up later.  Does that make sense?”

She didn’t know why he asked her that, his tone certainly didn’t sound like he _cared_ if it made sense.  But she pursed her lips and nodded anyway.

“What’s the bucket for?” she asked, mostly just to annoy him.

“Maybe you should just watch and see if you can figure it out,” he mocked.

So she did.  And when he removed the faucet, leftover water came pouring into the bucket.  She watched every step after that as he capped the pipes, not asking questions but memorizing each move none-the-less.  When he was finished, he scooted down to the other dangling faucet but paused before he started.

“You wanna do it?”

She glanced down at him, unsure of what to say.  Truth was, she was a little _afraid_ to do it, afraid to try and fail.  But she couldn’t let him know that, not when he’d finally given her a chance.  “Alright.” 

He handed her the wrench and moved out of the way, and she set about her tasks, doing it exactly how she’d seen him do it.  Bucket to catch water, undo couplings, remove faucet, apply white tape, screw on caps…  The wrench gave her more trouble than she would have thought, she kept fumbling with the adjuster to get the right fit.  He didn’t say anything, and didn’t try to help in any way.  She wasn’t sure if he was trying to be spiteful with his silence, but she didn’t care, because she didn’t want his help.  She wanted to try and do it on her own.  And she did.  She gave the last cap one more turn, then dropped the wrench into her lap to admire her work. 

“Tight enough?”

“Yes?” she answered timidly.

“Are you _sure?”_  

The challenge was unmistakable and it made her angry.  “Yes,” she said, more certain of herself.

He crouched down next to her and held out his hand for the wrench, but she yanked it away as she met his eyes.  “I _said_ I was _sure_.”

He raised his one good eyebrow at her.  “Oooooooookay,” he rumbled, clearly not convinced.  “I’m turning the water on.  Be right back.”

There was something about the glint in his eye that she didn’t like, but he always had some sort of expression she didn’t like so she ignored it.  Maybe she shouldn’t have.  After a few moments, she heard the groan of the pipes as they filled up, then the caps in front of her flew off and sprayed water everywhere.  She tried desperately to cover the exposed pipes with her hands but it was futile, the water gushing out relentlessly and soaking both her and the room.

Just as she was wondering how she was going to tell him to cut the water off, the flow stopped, leaving her wide-eyed and gaping in a drenched almost-bathroom.  This was going to be a pain to clean up, she knew, but worse was the knowledge that he had been right about the stupid caps.  So very right- the proof was sprayed everywhere and impossible to ignore.

She glanced up at the door just as he appeared in it, and he started laughing at her.  Laughing!  His horrid face was twisted up into something even more horrid, his eyes showing an amusement she had rarely seen before.  She stood up and glared at him, but he just laughed harder, practically roaring in revelry.  She failed to see what would warrant this level of merriment. 

“What’s so funny?” she snapped.

Then she looked down at her sheer pink t-shirt.

++++++++++++

“I _hate_ him.”

“Sansa…”

“I _mean_ it- he’s awful, and horrible, and vile.  And awful.”

“You said that already.”  Margaery was driving so that Sansa could keep her arms across her chest.  “What happened?”

Sansa sighed.  “We were doing plumbing… and the caps weren’t on properly…”

“I don’t understand.  Did he get you wet on purpose?”

“No…”

“Did he get you wet on _accident_?”

Sansa didn’t like where this was going.  “Well… no.”

“So why are you mad at him?”

Geez, why couldn’t she just take her side on this?  “Did you hear him laughing?  What kind of person laughs at another’s misfortune?”  They rode along in silence for a while, then Sansa turned to look at her quiet friend and was surprised to find her desperately trying to stifle a laugh.  “It’s not funny!”

“Well damn, Sansa, why aren’t you wearing a _bra?”_

“It was so _hot_ yesterday... and with the jeans, I thought it would be more comfortable to wear less layers... and I don’t really need one... and that’s beside the point!”

“Well what _is_ the point?  It’s not his fault you got wet, and it’s not his fault you’re not wearing a bra, what _exactly_ is it you’re so mad about?”

Sansa rested her head on the window.  “You don’t understand,” she pouted.  “You have no idea what it’s like working with someone so awful.  _You_ get to work with your boyfriend.”

“That’s not easy, either,” Margaery pointed out.  “We spend more time fighting than accomplishing things.  If we’re still together when this renovation is over it’ll be a miracle.”

Sansa looked at her friend in surprise; it hadn’t occurred to her that this was hard on her, too.  “Why don’t we work with each other?” she suggested hopefully.

“We’ll never learn anything if we work with each other,” Margaery said logically.  “Don’t…don’t look at me with those sad eyes, I can’t help you.  If you want to learn, you have to work with him.  Think of it as just another class with the world’s meanest teacher.”

“Pfffffftttttttt,” was Sansa’s only reply.  The last thing she wanted to do before starting classes was deal with much more of this drama.  But Margaery would never forgive her if she stopped going.  And besides… she really _did_ want to learn how to do these things.  Looking at houses over the weekend had got her pretty excited about getting one of her own, and she wasn’t the type to give up so easily once she set herself a goal.

Margaery looked at her sympathetically.  “Alright, tell you what.  How about tomorrow, _you_ can work with Bronn and _I’ll_ work with Mr. Grouchy Pants.”

Sansa sat up straight.  “Really?”

“Anything for you, sweetie,” Margaery smiled.  “Besides, I can kinda use a break from Bronn, he’s really been getting on my nerves.  He says I ask too many questions.  Can you believe that?”

They’d left early, so when they got home they changed into clean (and dry) clothes and went to Goodwill to get some more things to wear during the renovation.  By the time they were finally going to bed, Sansa realized that she was actually looking forward to the next day; working with Bronn would be a joy after working with Sandor the Jerk.

 

Art by the fabulous ruebella-b @ http://ruebella-b.tumblr.com/image/137248150648


	4. Wednesday- Framing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa proves her worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I would like to DEEPLY APOLOGIZE to any readers who actually know something about construction. I know I've got it all screwed up, and I can almost hear people screaming "What, that makes no sense, why would you do that?!" but this was the setting for the story in my head so I went with it, even if I DON'T know what I'm talking about.

When they showed up bright and early, Bronn was waiting for them in the driveway.  Almost before they could even stop, he had the passenger door open and Margaery in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she heard him muttering.  “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I’m just frustrated.”

“I know,” Margaery said back, snaking her arm around his neck and kissing him.  And then they wandered into the house together, still wrapped up in each other, oblivious to Sansa standing in the driveway with her mouth hanging open. 

Sansa sighed in defeat.  It wasn’t the public display of affection that bothered her so much as the realization that their previously decided arrangement was kaput.  Margaery would want to work with Bronn today and really, she couldn’t blame her for that.  If they’d been fighting as much as she suggested, then they probably needed the time to repair their relationship.  Just because Sansa didn’t _have_ a relationship didn’t mean she was unsympathetic towards those who _did_.

Resigned to her fate, she went inside to find Mr. Friendly, once again reminding herself that she could do this, just stay positive, use him for his knowledge, who cares if he’s an a-hole.  Just because he’d seen her near-naked didn’t mean this had to be awkward. 

He was in his room, right outside the bathroom, setting up a table saw.

“What’s this?” she asked brightly.  “Some kind of… gigantic… cutting thingy?”

If he was surprised to see her he didn’t show it.  Instead, he did his usual sigh of annoyance then turned to glare at her. 

“Chirp, chirp, chirp.”

Sansa’s mouth slowly opened in confusion, but she snapped it shut and gave him a quizzical look.  Was he making fun of her again?  _Already?_ There were so many things she could say to him right then, so many things she had _imagined_ saying to him, but when she opened her mouth again she just said-

“What?”

“That’s you, always chirping questions up at me like some sort of chirping little bird.”

 _Oh, you have got to be kidding me._ She spoke without thinking.  “Well… you’re always snapping and growling at me like some sort of… mean old dog,” she shot back, instantly proud of herself.

He raised his one good eyebrow at her.  “I’m not _that_ old.”

“Well the _rest_ of it’s true.” 

He pressed his lips together.  She could see the burned corner of his mouth twitching but tried not to look at it, and he grunted and turned away from her to plug the saw in.

“And you _sing_ all the time.  All.  The.  Time.  Like a little bird.”

Sansa scowled at him.  It was true, she _did_ sing all the time, everyone said so.  “Yeah… well… you stick your tongue out when you’re thinking,” she countered quickly.  “Like a dog.”  _Take that._   Wait… were his eyes twinkling?     

Sandor raised his hand, fingers moving in a way that made it look like a quacking duck.  “Peep peep.”

Well.  If he thought she was going to bark at him he had to think again.  Instead, she grabbed the instruction manual from the table saw, rolled it up, and swatted him in the chest.  “Bad dog.”

To her absolute surprise, he threw his head back and started laughing, and she couldn’t stop the giggle that came out of her even though she hated him. 

“Well done, little bird.”    

She bit her lip and blushed at the unusual compliment.  “So, um… what are we doing today?”

“Framing.  But first I gotta figure out how I want to do the tub surround.  It’s gonna be a pain in the ass.”

“Why’s that?”

He gave her a not-quite-withering look and sighed.  “Putting a garden tub in.  Not really big enough for a garden tub, so I need to make sure I’m using only as much space as absolutely necessary and nothing more.  And that’s gonna be a pain in the ass to figure out.”

“How are you going to get a garden tub in there?”

“Well, I got the smallest one I could.”  He motioned for her to follow him over to a big box in the corner of the bedroom and sure enough, there was a smallish garden tub in it.

“Can you even _fit_ in this?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that would take a fucking _bath_?”

Sansa pursed her lips in annoyance; it was a perfectly reasonable question and he was trying to make her feel bad about it.  “If you don’t take baths then why bother with a tub?”

“Resale,” he rasped, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

“Ok, so… I still don’t understand what the problem is.”

This time his look was undoubtedly withering.  “I already told you.  Space is a premium so I have to make sure not to use more than absolutely necessary.”

“But haven’t you _done_ this before?”   

Oh, he was definitely getting annoyed with her, she could _feel_ it.  “Yes,” he growled. 

“So… what’s the problem?”

“Well, for one thing, it needs to go in the corner, on a 45 degree angle, to make as much room for the shower as possible.  Do you know how hard it is to put an _oval_ on an exact 45 degree angle?  Pretty fucking hard.  It has to be at least two inches away from the wall, and then wherever it sticks out the most you have to add two inches to it because you need at least two inches all the way around.  It’s pretty fucking close to impossible to figure that out, and then even more impossible to mark it in the right way when you can’t even install the tub until the whole surround is built.  If this was a bigger bathroom then I could just do anything and not worry about it being too big, but this is a small bathroom, space is a premium, and it needs to be no bigger than absolutely necessary which, I believe, I’ve already fucking said.  Twice.”

She almost, _almost_ , didn’t say anything to the gigantic jerk, but ultimately she did.

“I can do it,” she offered.  She looked up at him cautiously and saw him scowling.  “Do you have paper and something I can write with?”

Another exaggerated sigh.  Another withering look.  He left the room for just a moment before returning with a yellow pad and a funny flat pencil, shoving both of the items at her.

“Why don’t you let me figure this out, and you can go get me something to eat?” she sang up to him.  She didn’t actually want anything to eat, but the opportunity to throw his words back at him was too great a temptation.

“Alright,” he said slowly, giving her a look like he was calling her bluff.  “I’ll be back in a few, don’t fuck anything up while I’m gone.”

_Nice._

The first thing she noticed about the bathroom was that the floor was different- it was completely covered with some sort of thick layer of wood.  He must have done that the previous day after she left.  For just the briefest moment she wondered if he missed having her help or if he was grateful she wasn’t there, but she quickly pushed that thought away.  Of _course_ he was grateful she wasn’t there. 

Sansa shook her head and put some music on before she got to work; she always worked better when she could listen to music.  She quickly measured out the location of the drain, then turned her attention to the tub.  Using everything Sandor had just said and the measurements, she sat down and started working out the exact dimensions that would be needed for her proposed surround.  It wasn’t hard, not really, you just had to know what you were doing, which equations to use, and how to use them.  She may not know anything about construction, but she _definitely_ knew her way around equations.    

One of her favorite songs started playing, so she turned the music up, immersing herself in Eddie Money’s promises to take her on a trip so far from here.  Sandor still wasn’t back yet, and she took the opportunity to start lightly marking her proposed structure on the floor.  And she sang, of course, because she always sang, and she danced a little, too, because it was one of her favorite songs. 

She had just gotten to the big finish when she whirled around to find her tormenter watching her, his tongue planted firmly in his cheek and eyes wide in amusement.  Seeing his expression gave her a sudden flash of clarity- he _liked_ seeing her embarrassed, he _liked_ it when she was rattled, he _liked_ making her angry.  The misogynistic comments, the little pet name, the hammer lessons… he’d been goading her into a reaction, and she’d risen to the bait every single time.  He hadn’t even looked down when her jeans hung lewdly on her hips, he’d gotten joy by looking at the misery on her _face_.  And now he was standing there, watching her with that same smirk, waiting for her to start stammering, start blushing, maybe even start crying.

_Well, not today, buddy._

♫  “I’ve got two tickets to paradise, ♫  
♫  Won’t you pack your bags we’ll leave tonight. ♫  
♫  I’ve got two tickets to paradise,  ♫  
♫  I’ve got two tickets to paradiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiise.♫  
Thank you Chicago!  Woooooo!”

“Have you ever even _been_ to Chicago?”  He was still smirking at her, but it was less malice and more mirth. 

“Nope,” she said.  “But I’ve always wanted to.”

He walked towards her and held his hand out, eyes dancing.  “I didn’t have any bird food, had to run down to the gas station.”

Sansa glanced down at what he was offering her- a bag of sunflower seeds and a bottle of lemonade.  _Very clever._   “Thank you,” she said softly and took the proffered snacks.  She knew he was trying to annoy her but she chose not to react, because she would not give him that satisfaction, and also because he somehow knew that she liked lemonade.

She looked up at him and confidently handed over her papers, which he took with a dismissive huff.  She sipped at her lemonade and watched him examine her drawing, the numbers she had scratched out, then down at the floor.  He paced around the room, glancing between the yellow pad and the ground, measuring here and there but not making any comments.  After a while, he ran a hand over his face and glanced over at her.

“Is it good?”

“Yeah… it’s good.”  He sounded reluctant to admit it.

He made a few changes to what she’d written down, but ultimately declared that he’d use it.  It made her feel positively giddy when he decided that, thrilled more than she could say, though she tried her best to act cool. 

Together, they finished sketching out the surround onto the floor, and marking on the studs how high the structure would go.  Then he handed her the yellow pad and told her to write down what he called out, and began measuring all the way around.  It was more than just reading the numbers on the measuring tape, though.  He seemed to be making a decision about every measurement, doing some kind of mental calculations.  She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but his tongue was sticking out and she didn’t want to interrupt him while he was thinking.

When he was finished, he stood and said “Alright, add that up.”   

“Four hundred twenty six and seven-eighths.”

He stood frozen for a moment, then narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.  “What’s that in feet?”

She glanced at the paper.  “Thirty-five feet, six and seven-eighths inches.  I’ll write that down.”

When she was done scribbling the number down, she looked up to see his baffled expression.  Then he took the paper from her and left the room, and she followed him to his tool box and watched as he pulled out a calculator and added up the numbers himself.  He gave her a side-ways glance, punched again at the calculator, then turned and looked at her.

“What did you say your major was?” he asked, even though she’d never told him.

“Math,” she smiled, looking him right in the eye. 

He turned away from her, leaving just the ruined side of his face twisted hideously, but she was starting to learn that this was how he smiled.  And yes, maybe it was also how he scowled, but right then she was fairly certain that he was smiling. 

They went outside to the pile of materials in the driveway and hauled in 2x4s _(‘why are they called 2x4s?’_ ) to make the frame of the tub surround.  They needed five- he carried four of them, she carried one, but fortunately he didn’t tease her about it.  After they’d laid them out and started marking them, he frowned down at the wood and told her to go get one more.

She was halfway to the front door when a man stepped across the threshold.  He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

“Hello,” she said hesitantly to the stranger.

“Hi there,” the man leered.  “Is Sandor here?”

“Oh.”  She let out a relieved sigh.  “Yes, he’s here.  Do you need him?”

“Yeah… in a minute, just… lemme talk to you first,” he responded, then walked over to her and held his hand out.  “I’m Boros by the way.”

“Sansa.”  She took his hand reluctantly.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” the man said, bringing his other hand to cover hers.  “How do you know Sandor?”

She didn’t like the way the man was looking at her, didn’t like the way he ran his thumb against her palm.  “Um, I’m helping him, and he’s… teaching me…”

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Boros drawled, his words taking on a meaning Sansa wasn't too naïve to understand.  Then he held her arm out and shamelessly looked her over.  “Damn, girl, you’re sexy as hell.”

“HEY!” a voice barked behind her.  “Where’s your fucking manners, asswipe?”

The intruder dropped her hand and smiled.  “Hey man.  This your girlfriend?”

“You think she’s my _girlfriend_ and you still talked to her like that?” Sandor snarled.  Sansa glanced back at him and… whoa, he looked angry.  She’d seen him annoyed plenty of times, but she’d never seen him _angry_.  It was… _intense_.    

“Touchy touchy,” Boros laughed.  “If I knew the kind of perks you had on this job I would have offered to help.”

“Fuck off, Boros, she’s not a perk.”

“Looks perky to me.  You got that compressor?”

“In my truck,” Sandor growled, pointing at the door.  “Out.”

The two men walked out the front door, leaving Sansa standing uselessly in the living room.  That man- _Boros_ \- had made her skin crawl.  But Sandor… God, what had gotten into him?  It’s not like she was his friend or anything; he didn’t even like her, didn’t even want her there.

He returned moments later with the extra 2x4, just as angry as when he left, and walked right by her without meeting her eye.

“Friend of yours?” she asked when she saw him.

“Coworker,” he mumbled after a beat.  “Rude fucker.  Ignore him.”

“Gladly,” she mumbled back, but his attitude was confusing.  She wanted to point out that he himself had been rude to her plenty of times, wanted to know why it was ok for _him_ to be mean to her but not anyone else.  But in the end she let it slide and followed him into the bedroom to get to work.

They quickly finished marking all the wood they would need to cut, then Sandor worked at the table saw while Sansa braced the longer pieces up even though he didn’t really need her to.  When he was down to the final few cuts, he turned the saw off and looked at her.

“You wanna do it?”

Her eyes went wide.  “The last time you asked me that, it ended badly,” she said nervously.

Oh, god, why would she bring _that_ up?  She _meant_ that she had messed up the caps, but she knew his mind went straight to that demented wet t-shirt contest because he immediately started laughing.  “There’s no water, so I think you’re good.”

“You’re mean,” she admonished.

“What?  That wasn’t my fault!”

“You still laughed.”

“That’s because it was fucking hilarious.”

She couldn’t help it, when he started laughing again she laughed with him, and for a few moments they laughed together at the memory of Sansa’s utter humiliation.  It _was_ kinda funny; it just would have been funnier if it happened to someone else.    

“Alright, come here,” he rasped, waving her over towards the table.  “Try not to fuck up this time.” 

So she stood in front of the table saw and he put an arm on each side of her to show her how to turn it on, how to line up the wood, and how to move the blade.  And it turned out that using the table saw was kind of fun; she just had to remember to keep her fingers out of the way.  When it was done, they screwed all the pieces together to create a structure, fashioned a top out of plywood, and dropped the tub in place. 

“Nice work, little bird.”  It seemed like he meant it.

After the plumbing was attached to the tub, they turned their attention to the shower pan.  After that was cut to size, they fixed it to the floor and attached the plumbing.  And he told her step by step what he was doing and why, even though she hadn’t asked.

He still snapped and growled at her, still huffed at her, still rolled his eyes and glared, but it bothered her a lot less than the previous days.  At least he wasn’t rearranging himself anymore.  And any time he needed to make a calculation he would just call it out to her and she would promptly answer.  The first few times he would punch it into the calculator just to double-check, but after that he always just took her word for it.  Her ability seemed to amuse him, and she was glad she could amuse him with something other than her raging embarrassment.

It was after nine when he called it a day.  They had gotten a _lot_ done.  She was both surprised and pleased to see that it was starting to actually look like a bathroom.

++++++++++++

They were half way home when Margaery gave her the side-eye. 

“You’ve been singing ‘ _Two Tickets to Paradise’_ ever since we got in the car.”

“Oh.  Sorry, you know how songs get stuck in my head.”

“Uh-huh.  So did you have a good day?”

She thought it over before answering.  “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“So Sandor was nice to you?”

“Yeah.  A little.  Or maybe I’m just getting used to him.  Or maybe both.”  She shrugged as if it didn’t really matter.  Because it _didn’t_ really matter.  “I got to use a table saw; that was fun.  And he used one of my ideas, which was… really cool.  How about you?  Did you have a good day with Bronn?”

“I guess.  We finished up painting his room, almost done painting the kitchen, but he doesn’t like the color.  I _told him_ that wasn’t a good color before he even bought it, but did he listen?  No.”

Sansa laughed at her friend.  Margaery wasn’t really a shrew of a girlfriend, but for some reason she liked to pretend that she was.  It was the weirdest kind of self-deprecating humor.  Margaery was actually really good with Bronn, and they seemed very happy together.

“I don’t know if I’ll get to paint at all, the bathroom is barely started and we’ve spent three days on it already.”

“Well, _I’m_ getting plenty of painting experience, and _you’re_ getting hardcore renovating experience.  Between the two of us we should be able to tackle anything.  Let’s go look at our house.” 

They didn’t really have a house yet, but the more they talked about it the more their collective imaginations had gone wild.  They spent so _much_ time talking about it that it almost felt like theirs, despite never setting foot inside.  The pictures online made it seem like a complete disaster, which would have scared the daylights out of her a week ago but now only looked like potential.  So Sansa drove by the little house they had picked out and felt, for the first time, that she could actually make it her own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Why math?" you say. "Why not?" I say.


	5. Thursday- Waterproofing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor rubs off on Sansa. No, not like THAT, get your minds out of the gutter.

“This bathroom is taking _forever_ ,” she complained, but she smiled at him so he’d know she wasn’t _really_ complaining.  “Is it always like this?”

“You and your fucking questions,” he complained back, but she could tell he didn’t mean it.  “It could go faster with more people.  But once we get into thin-setting things there’s not much you can do cause you always have to wait for something to set up.”

She had no idea what that meant but didn’t bother asking.  “So… what are we doing today?”  It was the same thing she asked every day, and it was getting easier to say.

“Waterproofing.”

She wandered into the bathroom after him, and immediately noticed that something was different.

“What’s this?”

“Uh, yeah, I put up drywall last night after you left.”

It felt like a slap in the face.  “I would have stayed if I knew you were doing stuff,” she protested.

“It was late,” he rasped with a shake of his head.

“ _You_ stayed.”

“It’s _my_ house.” 

“But now I _missed_ something.” 

“You didn’t miss much, little bird.  It had to go up yesterday so we could waterproof today.”

She didn’t argue, not at first.  He said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ this time, and the subtle shift was enough to silence her protests.  She wondered when he had decided they were a team.

“I would have stayed,” she repeated.  “If you had _told_ me.”

He shrugged.  “Didn’t decide to do it till after you left.”

“Well, _next time_ call me and I’ll come back,” she mock scolded.

He turned and glared at her then, but it was different than his usual glare, somehow less vicious and more… curious.  Then he took out his phone- a crummy old _flip_ phone, she noticed- and looked at her.  “What’s your number?”

She almost laughed.  She hadn’t really meant it when she said he should call her, not really.  But she gave him her number anyway and after a few seconds she could feel her phone buzzing in her back pocket.

“Little… bird…” he said out loud as he created a contact for her in his phone.

Not to be outdone, she created a contact for him on her own phone.  “Bad… dog…”

“I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Well, you ain’t good either,” she shot back.  “How about… mad dog?  …sad dog?  …hot dog?  …hound dog!”  Then she started singing _‘Hound Dog’_ and he cursed under his breath.  _Almost_ under his breath.  It was still pretty loud, but it would have to be to drown out her singing. 

Waterproofing was _awful_.  For some reason, she thought it was going to be somewhat clean but it was surprisingly nasty because of this stuff he called thin-set.  (‘ _Why’s it called thin-set?’_ )  He emptied a bag of powder into a bucket and added water, then used the drill and some funny attachment to stir it in a gigantic cloud of dust.  What was left after he was done looked like mud, only grittier, and they had to smother it over the walls in just the right way.  It was _impossible_ to work with.  He made it look easy, of course, but couldn’t make it look anything but messy.  Whenever _she_ tried, she wound up flinging the stuff all over the place.

The waterproofing membrane felt a lot like fabric, and they measured and cut it to size before smoothing it over the thin-set.  Then they’d have to stretch and adjust the material to make sure there were no bubbles and that the thin-set was even underneath.  It was time-consuming and laborious and yet another lesson in patience, for him as much as her. 

It.  Took.  Forever.  It had sounded so easy when he explained it to her, but it was well into the afternoon when they were finally down to the last piece.  “Oh thank god it’s almost done,” she sighed.  “I’m so sick of this thin-set.”

He threw his head back and laughed at her.  “Hate to disappoint you, but we are nowhere close to being done with thin-set.”

Together, they spread out the membrane to cut it and this time he made her do it.  Cutting with a knife wasn’t as easy as cutting with scissors, and since it was the end of the roll it had a tendency to curl at the edges, making it even harder to cut properly.  So he knelt down across from her to hold it in place, his hands right by hers, their heads nearly touching.  It was awkward having him so close.  Or… it _should_ have been awkward.  Instead she just found it distracting.  Every slice of the knife moved her away from him, but he would move with her, so close she could actually feel his body heat.

 _He’s so hot,_ she thought absently.  But then she realized how that sounded, even in her own mind, and her heart started pounding in her ears.  Her quickening pulse made her breath come in shorter, which made her blush, which made her _panic_ , worried he might notice her reaction and wonder about it.  God, she could NOT have him wondering why she was panting and blushing.  Which is probably why she pulled away so quickly when his hand brushed against hers.

It wasn’t the flinching itself that was a mistake.  No, it was the over-correcting, because she moved back into position so fast that she accidentally jammed the knife right into the fleshy part of his thumb.  And then seeing it embedded in his hand was such a shock she fell backwards with a start, but she clutched at the membrane as she fell and shredded it right in half.  It was an utter disaster.

“Oh my god!  _Oh my god!_   Are you ok?

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“I’m sorry!  Oh my god, I’m so sorry.  Are you ok?”

“I said I was fine!”

“I’m so sorry!”  Oh no, she couldn’t stop it, she dropped her head into her hands just as the tears started to fall.

“Stop apologizing!”

“Sorry!” 

“Wha… are you _crying?_   Why are you _crying?_   It doesn’t even hurt.  Look, it’s not even bleeding anymore.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Stop saying that!”

“…I just… I just feel… so _stupid_.”  God help her, why couldn’t she stop crying?

“You’re not stupid,” he said firmly.    

“I know.”  She knew that, she did.  “I just… I’m just not used to this.”

“What?”

She swept her arm around the room.  ““This.  All of this.  Day after day, being reminded of my own ineptitude.  I don’t like it.  I’m supposed to be _good_ at things.”

She heard him sigh, and for once it wasn’t one of his irritated sighs.  “You’re telling me you never have trouble with anything?  _Never?_   What about school?  All those math classes and you’re always perfect?”

“Math has always been easy for me,” she said, wiping a tear.  “That’s the only reason I majored in it- cause I knew I’d be good at it.  I don’t even know what I’m going to do with it after I graduate.”

“Teach?” he suggested.

She shook her head.  “How am I supposed to teach something that I’ve always just understood?  It’s like trying to teach people how to breathe.” 

“You could go into construction,” he teased.

“Yeah, right,” she sniffed.  “Haven’t I proven that I pretty much suck at this?”

He sighed again.  “You’re doing _fine_ , little bird.”

“I don’t _want_ to be ‘fine,’ I want to be ‘perfect.’” 

“That’s an admirable life goal,” he said sarcastically.  “But you can’t be perfect at everything.”

“Pffftt.”  She looked up at him with a mock pout.  “Why not?”

He chuckled softly at that and shook his head.  “You just can’t.”  For a moment they just looked at each other and she noticed for the first time that his eyes were silver.  How had she never realized that?  She could hardly believe she’d had trouble meeting those eyes only two days ago when now it felt like she had known him forever.  His scars didn’t even bother her anymore.  Her gaze wandered over the ruined flesh on the left side of his face, but she looked away quickly when she realized she was staring. 

If he noticed, he didn’t let on.  “You alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she mumbled.  “Perfect, actually.”

“Good.  And now we have to go to the store, because _someone_ fucked up the last piece of membrane.”

“Whew.  Glad I’m not _that_ person,” she quipped, and he laughed and gave her his hand to help her up.

When they made their way outside, she stopped in front of his gigantic black F750.  “Is this the absolute biggest truck you could buy?”

“Yes.”

She smiled sweetly at him.  “You know, I was thinking.  It’s my fault we have to go to the store in the first place, and I just feel terrible about it, so maybe I should drive.” 

He looked over at her hot pink 1973 Super Beetle, then back at her.  “No.”

“I insist.”

“Then you can drive my truck.”

“No thank you,” she said quickly, and climbed up into the cab of the monstrous vehicle.  The thing was absurdly large, but so was the man driving it, so she figured that was appropriate in a way.  It was surprisingly clean on the inside, though she wasn’t sure why she assumed it wouldn’t be. 

When they pulled out onto the street, he glanced over at her.

“So why don’t you tell me how you make it through life without cooking or cleaning?” 

Why would he…?  Oh, right.  She’d told him that the very first day.  She probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.  “I clean all the time, thank you very much, I only said that because you were making me mad.  _On purpose.”_

“Yeah, I guess I was,” he admitted with a hiss of laughter.  “And cooking?”

She let out a sigh of defeat.  “I can make some stuff,” she mumbled.  His eyebrow quirked up and she continued.  “Sandwiches.  Salads.  Spaghetti-Os.  I can scramble eggs like a boss.”

“That’s terrible,” he muttered with a shake of his head.  “And this is what you eat all the time?  Sandwiches and eggs?

“Well, Margie and I hit a lot of drive-thrus.”

“Why don’t you learn to cook something?  I’m sure you’d be ‘perfect’ at it.”  He was teasing her, but she didn’t really mind.

“I will,” she assured him.  “When I have a reason to.”

She’d never even been in a Home Depot before, and she was a little intimidated at first, but wandering around she decided it really wasn’t that much different than Costco.  They just sold different stuff.  Sandor walked straight to the section they needed and pulled a roll of waterproofing membrane off the shelf.

“ _You_ carry it,” he said, shoving it at her.  “Since you’re the reason we’re here.”    

If he thought he was punishing her he was wrong.  She actually _liked_ carrying the membrane, it made her feel like she belonged there, made her look like she knew what she was doing.  She was just lucky it wasn’t heavy, she supposed.

When they got up to the front registers, he snatched something off a rack and handed it to her.

“For you,” he rasped, holding out his hand. 

Sansa glanced down at the bag of sunflower seeds he was handing her.  _Very clever._   “Thank you,” she said softly and took the proffered snack.  They made their way to the only open register and got in line, right behind an obscenely hot girl.

The girl was very curvy and practically naked.  _She must have been working out right before she came to Home Depot,_ Sansa reasoned diplomatically.  Her shorts were black spandex, very tight and very short.  Her top wasn’t much more than a sports bra, which did little to keep her ample bosom in place.  It was the kind of outfit that demanded attention.  _Everyone’s_ attention?  Sansa looked up at Sandor. 

To his credit, he was doing a bang-up good job of pretending not to notice the girl.  But she knew that he _did_ notice by the way he kept his gaze extra high, fixed somewhere on the wall near the exit.  Sansa smiled up at him till he looked down at her, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that _he_ knew that _she_ knew that he noticed the girl’s smoking hot body. 

“What?” he asked with a smirk.

She held up her bag of sunflower seeds then let it slip through her fingers, and it landed with a soft splat right at the heel of the hot girl in front of them.     

“Oops,” Sansa said, arching one eyebrow.  “Can you pick that up for me?  My hands are kinda full.”

His eyes went cartoonishly wide and she had to stifle a laugh.  But he did not back down from the challenge, instead leaning down slowly and picking up the bag of sunflower seeds.  The girl seemed to take notice that there was a large man with his face right at her rear end, because she hastily scooted away and glared over her shoulder at him.  Sansa thought it was _hilarious_.

By the time he stood back up Sansa was giggling so hard her whole body was shaking.  He didn’t laugh, but she could tell he was amused by how brightly his eyes were burning and how his lips were pressed together. 

“I’ll just hold onto these for ya,” he rasped, mouth twitching.

“Good idea.” 

OK, so, it wasn’t exactly the same as her see-through t-shirt, but she sure was glad she finally got the opportunity to make him uncomfortable.  And it was fun!  No wonder he did it so much to her.  She was still riding her wave of victory when they finally made their way to the front of the line.  And then it all fell apart. 

“How you doing?” the cashier asked blandly.  “Did you find everything you were…”  And then she gasped and flinched so violently that she actually fell backwards into a rack.  But she never looked away; she kept her horrified gaze square on the twisted flesh before her.

It did not escape Sansa’s notice that the cashier’s reaction was almost exactly like her own, just three short days ago.  Instead of feeling any sympathy, though, she only felt anger, and lashed out harshly before thinking.

“What the fuck are you staring at, bitch?”

The cashier wrenched her attention from Sandor and looked at Sansa, mouth gaping and a blush creeping over her face.  “Sorry,” she mumbled, and rang up their items.

She had no idea how the people around them were reacting, because she was in a tunnel- it was just her, her anger, and the focus of her ire.  The woman behind the register finished the transaction as quickly as her trembling fingers would allow it, and Sansa paid.

“Sorry,” the cashier stammered again when the order was over.  “I’m… so sorry.”

“You _should_ be,” Sansa spat, snatching the receipt.

It wasn’t until they’d left the store that she started to come down, and then she just felt… horrible.  It was mortifying, the way she had acted, that war she had just waged against a complete stranger.  Worse, it wasn’t even _her_ war to wage.  She had no business speaking up like that. 

When he took the membrane from her hand and threw it into the back he gave her a look like the one he’d given Boros and she knew he was furious with her.  Climbing into the cab of his truck she realized she didn’t really blame him. 

“Proud of yourself?” he growled, slamming the truck into gear.

“No…” she mumbled.  She was most definitely not proud.

Oh God, he was _so mad_ at her, she could feel it roiling off of him.  “If I can control myself, I think you can do the same.  Fuck, I’m the one that actually has to put up with it.  You think I’m not used to it by now?”

“Used to what?” she asked weakly.

“Are you being serious?” he growled at her.  “You’ve spent all week looking away from me and now you’re pretending like you don’t _notice?”_   

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”   

“Yes, you do!” he snarled.  “I’m talking about how I look.” 

“What… do you mean?” she asked, wincing at the insincere tone of her voice.

“Don’t.  Don’t do that.”  He shook his head and glared at her.  “You _know_ what I mean.”

++++++++++++++

“…and the floor went down a lot faster than we thought it would, so tomorrow Bronn’s going to move in all their kitchen stuff and the table and chairs and everything.  Isn’t that cool?”

“Mmmmhmm.”  The silence stretched between them before Margaery turned and looked at her.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Sansa glanced over at her friend and grimaced.  “Sorry.  Hard day at the office.”

“Sandor again?”

“Ah… not really.  I mean, I accidentally stabbed him, but he was pretty cool about it.”

Margaery looked a little horrified by that but didn’t comment.  “Ok, so….”

“Um, well, I sort of yelled at the Home Depot cashier.”

“You _did?_   Why would you do that?”

Sansa huffed.  “She was just so rude!”

“What did you say?”

“Ah… well… I might have said… something like… ‘What the fuck are you staring at… bitch?’”

Margaery inhaled sharply through her teeth.  “Sansa Stark, what got into you?”

“She was just so rude!” she repeated.

“And that’s what you’re sitting here beating yourself up about?”

“Well, no… when we got out to Sandor’s truck he kinda got onto me, said he was used to people staring, and I was all… 'oh, I have no idea what you’re referring to.’”

“Oh, Sansa, really?”

“Well, I didn’t know what to say!”

“So you tried to act like you never noticed that half his face was melted off?”

“I panicked!” she insisted.  “So then the rest of the day was just… _awkward_.”

“I would guess so.”

Sansa took a deep breath.  “What _happened_ to him?”

“I don’t know,” Margaery said with a shrug.

“Does Bronn know?”

“No, he said he’s just always been like that but he doesn’t know why.  You should ask him.”

“Oh my God, Margie, I can’t just _ask_ him!”

“Then I guess you’ll never know,” she said.  That was fine with Sansa; she wasn’t entirely certain that she even _wanted_ to know.

“And I guess we won’t be shopping at that Home Depot anymore.” 

They were still giggling when Sansa pulled into the driveway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I think Sansa would actually cuss out a stranger? I think constant time with Sandor could definitely do that to her.


	6. Friday- Paint (finally!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too. Much. Angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like this chapter very much, it's too angsty for me. But necessary, as all stories must have angst. I guess. 
> 
> The bad thing about having Sandor and Sansa tell their stories is that it takes up so much space to convey something we already have heard a billion times. But this is my modern take. Figured this was enough horror for any family to suffer.

“So… what are we doing today?”

He shook his head at her without looking up.  “Well, first we need to finish waterproofing the seams…”

“Booooo!”

“…and then we’re gonna paint.”

“Yay!”  Painting sounded like fun.  Or at least, more fun than waterproofing.  Yuck.  She saw him shake his head again and press his lips together like he did when he was trying to fight a smile.  If he was still upset about her Home Depot performance he didn’t show it and she was grateful they could start again with their fledgling partnership.

“Are you getting carpet today, too?”  She’d heard all about the carpet Margaery had picked out for Bronn’s room all morning.

He snorted loudly in a way that said only sissies did carpet.  “No, I’m doing hardwood in here, but can’t do it until the bathroom is done.”

“What, why?”

“Cause I’m not going through the time and expense of refinishing these floors just to traipse more crap over them.  So once the bathroom is done, _then_ we can do the floors.”

“Well, when is _that_ gonna be?”

“At this rate… probably next Wednesday or so.  Maybe earlier, but I doubt it.”

Sansa sighed.  “Is it hard?”

“Yes,” he growled, and she giggled.  “You gotta sand all the old finish off and make it completely smooth, and then make sure it’s completely clean, and then stain it so it’s all the same color, and then seal it.  Very little room for error, and easy to fuck up.  But the floor sander is kinda cool.  Waddya think, little bird?  You wanna learn to use a floor sander?”

“No,” she laughed.  “I mean… yes, that sounds like fun, but I won’t be here, so… no.” 

She’d forgotten, somehow, that this was just a one-week deal, and now that she’d said it out loud she realized that they’d never really discussed it.  It felt odd that she wouldn’t be here to see it through, and… a little disappointing.  She glanced back at Sandor; he looked stunned.

“My classes start on Monday,” she explained.

“So… Sunday… and that’s it?”

“Well… no... my birthday is Sunday and I’m spending the day with my family, so… Saturday… tomorrow… and that’s it.”

Saturday.  And that was it.  That was _it_.  She wouldn’t be coming here anymore, wouldn’t be learning anymore, wouldn’t be helping anymore.  They stood in silence for a moment and then she glanced up at him again.  He looked pretty much how she felt.  How she felt, though, was… undefinable. 

“Guess we should get to work, then,” he mumbled.

He seemed… tense… when he went into the bathroom and poured thin-set into the bucket.  She couldn’t really help with this part, so she just watched him add the water and start mixing in his usual cloud of dust.  He mixed for a few minutes and let the drill come to a stop like usual, but instead of leaving it in the bucket he just stood there without moving.  Looking up, she saw the tell-tale sign that he was deep in thought.

“Your tongue is sticking out again,” she said playfully.  His head snapped up and he glared at her in a way that sent a shiver down her spine.  And then he turned and walked out of the room without a single word.

 _What was_ that?  He hadn’t looked at her like that since… well, just last night, actually, but she thought they were past that, thought they were back to normal this morning.  Whatever ‘normal’ was.  She tried to think of something that might explain that look, but the only thing she’d done since she got there was talk.  So what could he be so mad about?

Thin-set had to rest for ten minutes before you mixed it again, she knew, so there wasn’t really anything to do until then.  But she didn’t leave the room, didn’t go looking for him, because he seemed so upset she thought maybe he needed a break from her.  Even though she’d just arrived.

When he finally came back he stirred the thin-set one more time without looking at her or saying anything, then shoved the mixing attachment towards her so she could go rinse it off.  By the time she got back, he was already working on waterproofing the seams.

He didn’t speak to her.  At all.  It wasn’t just that he ignored her, either, he pretty much acted like she wasn’t there.  The only way she knew what to do was by following his lead, because he never asked her to do anything and never gave her any instructions.  But she could feel… something… simmering below the surface, something unpleasant, and she was too afraid to speak up because of it.  It was almost like their very first day together.  _Almost_ , except…  

“Is that my tape measure way the fuck over there?  Can you stop moving my shit around, please?”  
“How do you keep managing to lose the fucking pencil?”  
“Why the fuck are you still so bad with thin-set?”  
“Are you _blind_?  Does that _look_ like it’s flat?”

It was so much _worse_ than their first day together.  Two more days, only _two more days_ , and he had to act like this.  Things had been going so well, and suddenly he turned into a jerk again.  And for the life of her she could not figure out _why_. 

When Margaery came to tell them that lunch had arrived she couldn’t have been more relieved.   

Sandor did not eat with them; Sansa did not care.

Or… _pretended_ like she did not care.  Truth was, she’d considered it a minor victory when he _started_ eating with them, especially since he’d been so opposed to it at first.  So now that he was eating alone again she took it as an insult.  Which was probably how he meant it. 

He was already back to work by the time she was done with her lunch, and she stood behind him as he cut a strip of membrane to place over the seams.

“You know, this could probably go a lot faster if you let me help,” she told him, trying (and failing) to hide her growing irritation.

“You think so, do you?” he sneered.  “Seeing as how you fucked up every single thing you tried, I think it’s going fast enough _without_ your ‘help.’”

Wow, that was… rude. 

She didn’t even bother with stomping or complaining when she went to Margaery, just told her that Sandor didn’t really need her right then.  She spent the next few hours lining kitchen shelves with contact paper and unpacking canned goods.  It was not at all what she was planning for the day, but at least she wasn’t standing around doing nothing anymore.

Geez, what was his _problem?_   She thought things had been going so well, thought he was starting to get used to her, maybe not mind her so much.  He wasn’t wrong- she _did_ tend to screw up everything she tried- but why would he suddenly care about that _now?_    And she knew he was mad at her about the Home Depot thing, but he’d seemed fine this morning, didn’t get angry till she told him she wouldn’t be back next week.

Oh dear God.  He was angry she wouldn’t be back next week.

It wasn’t like she didn’t want to come help, it was that she couldn’t.  She had school, and her family, and… well, a whole other life to get back to.  Six days was what she promised Margaery, and six days is what she was giving.  She couldn’t give more even if she wanted to.  Not that she wanted to.  Oh hell, who was she kidding- she _did_ want to.  She’d started feeling like she belonged here and now she was leaving and never coming back.  It was disappointing, if she was being honest with herself.  But… why would he hold that against her?  That was completely unfair.

She saw him take the bucket out to the back yard and she snuck into the bathroom to check on the progress.  Looked pretty much done to her; maybe that meant it was time to paint.  Must have been, because he walked into the bedroom then with two cans of paint, pausing only a second when he saw her.

“Can I help?”

“Don’t need help.”

“Can I help _anyway?_ ”

She saw his jaw clench and his mouth twitch before he glared at her, but he didn’t say no so she decided to stay.  He made a few more trips to bring in more things, but never gave her any instructions so she just waited for him.  She could handle this, she knew; she’d handled his bad attitude before, she’d just have to do it again.

He laid out big sheets of plastic on the floor, which she assumed had something to do with protecting the wood from paint splatters.  Then he opened both cans of paint and poured them into one bucket.  It was a really pretty color, one of those where you can’t tell if it’s blue or if it’s grey.  No matter, the end result would be soft and the perfect color for a sanctuary like a bedroom. 

“Wow.  I really like the color.”  No response.  “Who picked it?”

He glared in her direction.  “Who the fuck do you _think_ picked it?”

“Some big dumb idiot,” she guessed under her breath. 

He probably heard her, but he didn’t say anything.  Instead he picked up a paint brush, unwrapped it, and handed it to her.

“Cut in at the corners and around the baseboards.  Anywhere the roller can’t get.”

That… that was _it?_   Was that _all_ of the instructions?  She stood motionless, blinking at him, but he ignored her and grabbed a small container and poured some paint into it.  Then he grabbed his own brush and started painting the tops of the walls right where they joined the ceiling.  So she followed his lead and started painting the bottoms of the walls, right where they joined the baseboards.

“Don’t dip your brush so far, that’s completely useless.”   
“You need to drag it along the edge of the bucket to get the excess paint off.”   
“That’s too much, it’s gonna drip.”   
“No… fuck… start in the corners until you’re used to it.  Damn.”

“Maybe you should have told me how to do it _before_ I started,” she grumbled at him.  He probably heard her, but he didn’t say anything. 

He was done with the top way before she was done with the bottom, so he moved on to what she assumed was going to be the bulk of the wall.  By the time he’d set up the roller and paint tray, the silence was starting to bother her.

“So, how much longer until the bathroom is done?”  Nothing.  “Are you going to put blinds in, or do you prefer curtains?”  Nothing.  “You should put a ceiling fan in here.”  Nothing.  “Margaery says Bronn is thinking about having a housewarming party.”  Nothing. 

And so it went for the rest of the afternoon, working mostly in silence except for Sansa’s occasional attempt at conversation.  It was completely ridiculous.  She couldn’t believe he was punishing her like this because she had other obligations.  _Important_ obligations.  She couldn’t neglect the things that were most precious to her, he had to understand that.  He _had_ to.    

“You know... school is important to me,” she started awkwardly.

“Goody for you,” he grumbled without looking at her.

“Family, too.”

“Super.”

“Otherwise, I’d… I’d be here to help… you know.”

“Don’t need your help.”

“I don’t understand you.  If you don’t want my help, then why are you mad that I won’t be here next week?”

He finished rolling the area he was working on and dropped the roller into the tray before turning to her slowly with a scowl.  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

That.  Was.  _It._

“Why are you being such an _ass?”_

“Ooooh, an ass,” he mocked her.  “Did the little bird learn a new word?”

Sansa crossed her arms and glared at him.  “I just call it like I see it.”

He was glaring back at her, but she held his gaze, refusing to back down.  And for a moment they just stared each other down.  But then he huffed at her and turned away, his body seeming to relax into something like resignation. When he spoke again, he didn’t sound bitter, he just sounded… defeated.

“You know what… I don’t really think this is working for you.”

It felt like a punch in the stomach.  “What?”

“I mean… this obviously isn’t really your thing, right?  I don’t even know why you’re here.  Maybe you should just not… just don’t bother coming tomorrow.  Take the whole weekend off.  Spend time with your family.”

“I’m spending time with them on Sunday,” she mumbled blandly.  What on earth was going on?  “I can still come tomorrow.  I _want_ to come tomorrow.  It’s the last chance I have before I go back to school.”

“School.  Right,” he sneered.  “Going back to school with all the other little kids.”

“I’m not a little… what is _wrong_ with you?”  Was he mad that she went to school?  That was absurd!

“Nothing.  I’ve just had enough fucking babysitting.  Go back to school and being perfect in your perfect little classes.  Go back to your perfect little family.”  She just sat there blinking at him, too stunned to even have a single thought.  “I bet you do, don’t you- have the perfect little family.  Get together for birthdays and holidays, bet you cook out every weekend with your badminton sets and horseshoes or whatever shit you perfect people do.  Sit around the campfire singing Kumbaya with all your little brothers and sisters.  Bet you got a lot of perfect brothers and sisters, don’t ya?”

He hadn’t been looking at her throughout his little tantrum, kept his head low while jabbing at the paint tray with his roller.  The way he was muttering like a lunatic, she wasn’t even sure if she was supposed to be able to hear him.  But that last part he said louder and raised his eyes to hers as if in challenge.  She couldn’t understand where all this venom was coming from, but he looked like he actually wanted her to answer him, so she took a calming breath and tried.

“Well, there’s Robb and Jon, they’re both 26.  They’re not twins or anything, just… long story.  And Robb is married, they just had a baby, so… that’s fun.  And then there’s me, and then my sister, Arya.  She’s 20.  She’s a complete pain in the neck, you’d probably like her.  And then there’s Brandon, he’ll be 18 in a few weeks, and Rickon is 15.  They’re both in high school.  And… that’s it.”

“Big family,” he sneered.  “Sounds lovely.”

“It is.”  His attitude was very confusing.  Was it her _family_ that made him mad?  He didn’t even _know_ her family.  “How about you?  You got any brothers or sisters?”

“Brother,” he growled after a moment.

“Big or little?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.  “Big.”

There was something about his gaze that was making her nervous.  “Is he as big as you?” she joked.

“Bigger,” he rasped, and pointed to his disfigured face.  “He’s the one that did this.”

Sansa’s eyes glanced over the puckered skin and exposed bone and felt her heart twist up in agony.  She didn’t know _what_ he had gone through to get those scars, but she knew he was about to tell her. 

“It was Christmas.  I was seven.  We never had good Christmases, not really, not like perfect people do.  But we usually had a tree and a fire and presents and shit.  And I’m sitting there on the floor, playing with whatever crap we’d gotten, but I guess I played with the wrong thing.  It’s not like I knew what I was doing, I was _seven_ for fuck’s sake.  But my brother saw me with his gifts and flipped out. He was twelve and built like a damn ox, and he picked me up like I was nothing and shoved me right in the fucking fire.  And he _held_ me there, while I was screaming, and didn’t stop until my dad hit him. 

“We went to the hospital, but my dad told the doctors I _fell_ into the fireplace because he didn’t want to get my brother in trouble.  They told him I’d need skin grafts or some shit, but he couldn’t be bothered with it, just kept me home and under bandages until I healed up on my own.  The truancy officer showed up at our house and told him he couldn’t keep me out of school anymore, so he sent me back, but on the very first day I got sent to the school counselor.  Seems I was scaring the crap out of all the other little kids, and the counselor was _oh so_ _worried_ about me.   

“My dad kept me home after that, didn’t want to hear about the poor little ugly boy anymore.  Told everyone he was homeschooling me.  Yeah, that never happened.  He’d do whatever he had to in order to keep the school board away, faked my tests, lied about homework…  I spent all my time watching TV, cause he didn’t want me leaving the house and there was nothing else to do. 

“When I was twelve, my brother broke my arm.  Instead of taking me to a doctor, my dad set it himself, cause he didn’t want to answer any nosy questions.  And that’s when I knew I had to get the fuck out of there.  So I did, got my shit and left.  Wandered onto a construction site the very first day and been working ever since.  Guess I was lucky, there.  You can always find someone who doesn’t want to bother with crap like driver’s licenses and paperwork, someone who prefers to pay under-the-table.  And they’re always looking for strong workers.  Which I am.  I’d have to be, living on my own since I was twelve, working every damn day just to take care of myself.  So yeah, I guess I can’t really _relate_ to your perfect little family and your perfect little life.”

It felt like all the air had gotten sucked out of the room, like nothing else even existed right then except him and her and his story.  It was a _terrible_ story.  He started shifting around, glancing towards the ceiling and huffing- it seemed like maybe he was regretting his decision to talk to her about it.  “Forget it,” he growled after a moment.  “I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand.”

She _did_ understand, but at the same time… she _couldn’t_ understand.  No one could.  She would never know what it was like to not go to school, to not feel safe in your own home, to try to make it on her own before she ever even reached her teen years.  She looked up into his glittering eyes and wondered what it would be like to live the life he’d described.  It was really no wonder he was bitter.  Part of her wanted to go to him, to put her hand on his shoulder and tell him she was sorry he went through that.  The other part of her wanted to hit him for being an ass.  So she split the difference.  She took a breath, dropped her gaze, and told him _her_ story.

“When I was fifteen, my dad set me up on a date with the son of his childhood friend.  I was pissed.  I mean, I was _fifteen_ \- I wasn’t keen on going on blind dates in the first place, much less ones that were set up by my _dad_.  But I went, had a good time, started seeing him on a regular basis.  He was this real good looking guy, said all the right things, did all the right things... my friends were all jealous.  And his family was loaded, I mean… _filthy_ rich.  Private jets, multiple houses, family vacations in exotic locales.  I never really cared much about money, but I’d also never seen anything like it.  I thought I was living in a fairy tale and had found my prince charming.

“Then one day, my parents sat me down and said they didn’t want me to see him anymore.  Said he wasn’t the right guy for me, said I deserved better.  They _forbade_ me from ever seeing him again.  And I did all your stereotypical teenage girl things- yelling, stomping, slamming doors.  And then I called prince charming.  He said ‘don’t worry, babe.  I’ll take care of it.’  Around 3 in the morning he called me back to tell me he’d solved our little problem, and that’s when I… found them.  

“The police… they were pretty useless, they said it was a robbery gone bad.  But I knew better, knew his parents did something to make it disappear, knew it because that’s what he _told_ me.  I was down at the station almost every day, telling them they were wrong, but I was a fifteen-year-old orphan and no one would listen to me.  I did everything I could, said everything I could, everything except tell the truth.  I couldn’t tell them about that phone call, because I knew it wouldn’t make any difference, and because I didn’t want anyone to know.  I told my parents I hated them, then I had them killed.  

“My aunt and uncle were… _sympathetic_ … but didn’t really want to be bothered, so Robb and Jon took full custody.  They were eighteen and had to give up everything so that they could be dads to us.  I screwed them over- I screwed every single one of them over with my idiotic ideals about love and fairy tales.  They don’t know it, but I do. 

“And you know, the worst part was that I was too afraid to break up with him.  I had to keep dating him, pretending I was in love, biding my time until _he_ dumped _me_.  Which took longer than you might think, even though I was suddenly the world’s worst girlfriend.   ‘You’re no fun anymore, Sansa.  You’re so stupid, Sansa.  You’re really ugly when you cry, Sansa.’  When he wasn’t berating me, he was hitting me.  When he wasn’t hitting me, he was having his friends hit me.  But not in the face, never in the face, cause he liked me pretty.  My prince charming.”        

Sansa felt… terrible.  She had never, _ever_ told her story to anyone before, and if she thought it would give her relief she was shockingly wrong.  Her bitterness tasted like dirt in her mouth, her body felt completely hollow and cold, and she looked up to see if he was listening.  He was. 

“It has a happy ending, though.”  She saw his eyebrow quirk up, the flicker in his eyes that said he didn’t want to hear more.  She told him anyway.  “My parents had life insurance.  Lots of life insurance.  So- _lucky me_ \- I’ve never had to work a day in my life.”

He pressed his lips together and looked away from her quickly, and she wondered if he regretted all those things he’d said to her, all those times he had tried to make her feel bad.  She hoped he did.  She hoped he didn’t.

“You think you know me just by looking at me.  Pretty girl, empty head; happy girl, perfect life.  You don’t know me.  And you of all people should know better than to judge others by their appearances.”

He bristled noticeably.  “Me of all people?” he echoed with a growl.  If this was Monday she would have been bothered by the tone in his voice, but this was Friday and she’d had enough.  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head at him.  “Don’t.  Don’t do that.  You _know_ what it means.”

For the first time since she’d met him, it seemed he was having trouble meeting _her_ eyes.  But it didn’t last long, because they were soon joined by Margaery.

“Hey, pizza’s here.  You hungry?”

Sansa thought the tension in the room was stifling, but if Margaery noticed she didn’t let on.  “Uh, yeah.  I could eat.”  She stood up quickly, setting her brush down in the paint tray before she left the room without even a glance back.

The countertops hadn’t been installed yet, so the only place to set the pizza was on the café table that Bronn had set up just that afternoon.  But that left little room at the table for eating, so Bronn gallantly insisted that the women sit at the table while the men ate standing up in the kitchen.

She didn’t look at him at all while they ate, _couldn’t_ look at him, because her mind kept wandering to the things he’d said.  She tried to focus on Margaery and her play-by-play on the carpet installation but in truth she barely registered what her friend was saying.  She knew she should eat, knew she should be starving by then, but the pizza was tasteless and churned her stomach.  She absently ripped it into tiny little pieces and picked them all apart, only occasionally popping one in her mouth.  Sandor was done before all of them and left the room quietly, but as he walked by the table he leaned down to her.

“You even _eat_ like a damn bird.” 

Margaery’s eyes went wide when she heard that, but Sansa… somehow, it didn’t bother her.  Somehow, she knew this was as close as they were getting to a truce.

The rest of the evening passed in relative calm- it wasn’t _uneasy_ , but they didn’t really talk, either, only when they had to and only about what they were doing.  It gave her a lot of time to think, time to go over everything he’d said, and she thought maybe she’d figured him out.  There was a small part of him that resented that she had something he never had.  And maybe there was a part of him that was going to miss having her help.  She wasn’t naïve enough to think he might actually miss _her_ , but she thought he might miss her help.  And… she understood that, she supposed, because she was going to miss helping.  So… yeah, she got it.  But instead of making the best of it like she was doing, he was pushing her away.  Maybe he thought by keeping her at a distance it would be easier.  And maybe he was right.  But that didn’t make it easy.    

They had just finished the second coat of paint when Margaery appeared in the door.

“Wow, that looks great!” she said appreciatively.  “You almost ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”  Sansa knew there was probably a lot to be done to clean up, but right at that moment she just really wanted to leave.   She dropped her brush into the paint tray and started to follow Margaery out of the room.

“Little bird…”

His voice was so soft, her very first thought was _‘not you, too.’_   People always did this when they found out.  Even though she never told anyone, she could always tell which people _knew_ just by the way they treated her.  Like she might break under any kind of pressure.  Like she was weak.  She hated that.  Was he really going to do the same thing after she’d spent five straight days proving she could handle anything?  She turned and looked at him. 

“We’re doing tile tomorrow.  You may get wet, so… dress appropriately.”  He raised one eyebrow at her with a knowing smirk, then turned his attention back to the paint. 

 _What a jerk,_ she thought, biting back a smile.  _God, I hate him._

+++++++++++++++++++

“Hey, you know that Walmart on Kings Road?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“What time do they close?”

Margaery looked confused.  “I’m not sure.  Why?  You going shopping?”

“Uh…yeah, I might.”

Her friend eyed her warily.  “I think they’re 24/7.  What do you need?”

“Just some stuff.  I’ll go after I shower, let me know if you want anything.”

When they got home, Sansa took a quick but thorough shower before settling down at the computer to search for recipes.  She wanted to make something complicated enough to be impressive, but simple enough that she couldn’t mess it up.  She stuck with the 5-star reviews and finally made a selection before hurrying off to Walmart.

She bought exactly what the recipe called for, with zero deviations.  She knew they probably had some of the stuff on her list at home, but she took no chances and got everything anyway.  She even bought a brand new Tupperware container.  And a jar of sunflower seeds, just because.

Following the recipe was easy enough, and soon she was measuring and sifting, grating and cracking, stirring and pouring.  It smelled wonderful when it came out of the oven, and she thought it looked pretty good, too.  She drizzled glaze over the hot treats before finally wandering off to bed, satisfied with her creation.

It was 1:14am.


	7. Saturday- Tile

 

First thing Saturday morning, Sandor and Bronn started moving in all of their belongings.  There was new carpet down in the living room and office and they didn’t want to mess it up, so Sandor put down some sort of thick paper and they started to pile items up anywhere they could find space.  They filled up the office with as much stuff as would fit, then started filling the living room, but Margaery and Bronn were planning on painting the living room that day.  They couldn’t put anything against the walls, so they piled everything awkwardly in the middle instead. 

They set up Bronn’s bed and dresser since his room was already done, but piled even more boxes into the corners to be unpacked later.  Margaery quickly made Bronn’s bed because she wanted to see how it looked all put together.  By the time she was smoothing the comforter out, she glanced up at Sansa with a mischievous smile.

“I’m sleeping here tonight, ok?” she said with a wink. 

Knowing Margaery the way she did, Sansa suspected she’d be doing a lot more than just sleeping.

“Are _you_ sleeping here tonight?” she asked Sandor later.  They had just moved all their stuff in, but his bedroom wasn’t set up, so she wasn’t sure.

“Yeah, I’m riding the couch.” 

“Everyone’s sleeping here except me,” she complained quietly.  But then she realized how that sounded and hurried off before he noticed her blushing. 

Once the moving truck was unloaded, Margaery and Bronn left to take it back while Sansa and Sandor got to work.  She was dismayed to see him mixing up more of that vile thin-set, but at least they were tiling today.  It was getting so close to looking like a real bathroom, so she bit back her grousing when he started explaining what she would be doing.

“… and smooth it out just enough to cover completely, then take your notched trowel and slowly drag off the excess into the bucket.  And if you get any around the edge, wipe it off with your finger like this.”

“And this is called _what?”_

“Back-buttering.”

“Seriously?”

“Why would I make that up?”

“So that I look silly when I tell people I’ve been back-buttering all day.”

“That would be pretty funny, but no, that’s actually what it’s called.”

“Oooooookay.  If I find this on Urban Dictionary I’m tracking you down, mister.”

They did the walls first so that they wouldn’t have to worry about stepping on anything as they moved around the room.  The tile was really freaking heavy, and she thought there was no way it would stay up on the wall but that thin-set held firm.  She should have known; thin-set was the devil’s doing, after all, and if it could hold tight to her clothing it could hold tight to tile. 

It went up pretty steadily- he would thin-set the wall and she would ‘back-butter’ the tile (if that’s what it was really called) and then he’d put it up with little spacers while she readied the next one.  Any time a tile needed to be cut, he’d take it outside and cut it using a special saw that was almost exactly like the table saw, except it also used water.  He let her do a few, and he had been right about getting wet.  Not as wet as that day with the pipe mishap, but wet enough she was glad to be wearing navy blue.

Scraping the last bit of thin-set out of the bucket, he finally declared that it was time for a break.  

They were gathered for lunch- premade sandwiches from the gas station down the street- when Sandor noticed the container of treats.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Ask Sansa,” Margaery said, smiling.  “She made them.”

“She _did?”_   Sandor looked at her curiously and she nodded, trying not to look too proud.  “Like, from a box?”

“No, from scratch,” she responded, as if it were the simplest thing in the world and not something she had obsessed over until 1 in the morning.

“Is there any chance we’re all gonna get food poisoning and die?”

“A small chance.  But totally worth it.”

“Ok, so what is it?”

“Lemon cakes,” she announced with a flourish.  “My specialty.”  It wasn’t a lie- they were the only thing she had ever made from scratch, so that made them her specialty, right? 

Bronn was the first one done with his sandwich and the first one to dive into the Tupperware of lemon cakes, shoving one unceremoniously into his mouth.  Then he looked up and winked at her and she winked back.  She wasn’t really the kind of girl to wink at people, but Bronn seemed to have that effect on everyone.

Soon enough they were all sampling the treats.

“These are really good,” Margaery said encouragingly.

“Yeah, not bad,” Sandor agreed, licking his fingers like an animal.  “If you like that sort of thing.”  But he grabbed another one before he left the room, so he _must_ have liked that sort of thing.  Sansa bit her lip hard to hide her satisfied smile and dropped her gaze to the ground, but when she looked up again Margaery and Bronn were both staring at her with raised eyebrows.

 _“What?”_ she said defensively, and scurried out of the room before they could even hope to answer.

Their bellies full, they got right back to work.  Geez, but that tile was heavy.  They were way thicker than seemed completely necessary, especially for wall tiles, but Sandor said it was because they were made out of travertine (‘ _what’s_ _travertine?’_ ).  Once they were done with the wall tiles, they moved on to the top of the tub surround, then the side of the surround, then the bullnose, then the shower floor.  They mixed small batches of thin-set so that they never had to worry about it drying up, but that just meant they had to wash the bucket out continuously before mixing up another cloud.

It was late afternoon when Sansa was outside, rinsing the bucket for what felt like the millionth time and glancing around the yard appreciatively.  It was a very nice yard- not big, but it had enough bushes and trees that made it private.  There was a deck in the back that overlooked a small creek, a shed, a fire pit, and a small basketball court.  It was the perfect yard for a party.

 _Wonder if they’ve got a basketball._   It might be fun to play a game real quick, just to blow off some steam.  Sandor came wandering out just then and strode straight to the shed.  He emerged moments later with a basketball, almost as if he’d read her mind.

“So I was thinking,” he rasped, dribbling the ball across the small court towards her, “that maybe you womenfolk could go get dinner for us menfolk.”

She shook her head.  “You are positively primeval.”

“Are you dropping Disney quotes on me?” he sneered.  She stared at him, gaping, before she snapped her mouth shut.  “What?” he said, holding his hands out.  “I can’t be surprising?” 

She laughed at him, because it _was_ surprising.  She walked over to the edge of the court and put her hands on her hips.  “Maybe you _menfolk_ should be learning to take care of _yourselves_.”

“I’m just saying, since you brought food for lunch, maybe that can be your _thing_ , now.”

“Or maybe, since I brought food for lunch, it’s someone else’s turn,” she retorted. 

“Or maybe we can play for it,” he suggested, bouncing the ball in her direction, but it glanced off her hip and she had to run after it.

“What do you mean?” she asked over her shoulder, furrowing her brow at him before throwing the ball… badly.

He smirked at her, mouth twitching.  “Whoever gets to 21 first wins, and the loser has to get dinner.”  He bounced the ball to her again, but she stepped out of the way with a squeal and had to chase after it.

When she got back to the court, she looked at him with wide, uncertain eyes and began dribbling- with both hands.  “So… if I lose I get dinner?  And if you lose you get dinner?”  She tried to stop the ball, but it hit off her fingers and went into the grass again.  “Oh…”

“That’s right,” he agreed, eyes twinkling.

Sansa walked over to pick up the ball, but accidentally kicked it instead.  “And I get to pick?”

“Ok.”

She picked up the ball and tried to throw it at him, but it went high up in the air and landed almost at her feet and she jumped back in surprise.  “And you have to pay?”

“Sure.”

She walked back to the edge of the court and bounced the ball to him- better now, but still weak, it bounced several times before it reached him.  “And you have to drive my car?”

He laughed.  “Alright.” 

She bit her lip and looked at him nervously.  “So if I lose, I have to go get dinner, and if you lose then you have to go get dinner, I get to pick where, you have to pay, and you have to drive my car.”

“That’s right,” he said, bouncing the ball to her.  “Deal?”

“Deal,” she said.  Then she looked him right in the eyes with a beatific smile and casually launched the ball over his head towards the basket.

She didn’t _know_ the ball would go in.  She didn’t even _think_ the ball would go in.  But she was certain that _if_ it went in, it would be the most badass thing she had ever done.  And since he already assumed she couldn’t play basketball, she figured it was no skin off her nose to try.

The look on his face when the ball swished through the net was absolutely priceless, she wished more than anything she could have taken a picture.  Or had a witness. 

“Are you shitting me?” he asked, clearly impressed though he was trying to act annoyed.  “Were you, like, some sort of all-star point guard in high school or something?”

“Don’t be silly.  I was a majorette in high school.”

What followed was the most intense game of one-on-one in the history of basketball.  He was definitely the tallest person she had ever played against, and probably the best, too, so she had to stay on her toes and try her very hardest.  Luckily, he spent a lot of the time showing off like a teenaged boy, which she would mimic during her next possession.  Spinning the ball on one finger?  Piece of cake.  Dribbling through her legs?  Not a problem.  Alley oop?  Child’s play.

And she sang- _Sweet Georgia Brown_ \- just to annoy him, because she hated him so much.

Near the end of the game, Sansa started regretting her wager.  He probably would have been ok with getting dinner, letting her pick, and paying for it himself, but adding her car on top of it tipped the bet into a desperate situation.  There was no way he’d be ok with driving her car, and he played like a man fighting for his life.

Sansa was ahead 21-20 and driving to the basket, certain to win, when he wrapped an arm around her waist, yanked her up against his body, and plucked the ball from her like taking candy from a baby.

“Foul!” she cried, but he was already taking the ball back and she had no choice but to chase after him before he dribbled towards the basket for an easy layup.  “You cheated!”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he said, bouncing the ball towards her.

“I didn’t _lose_ , you cheater, we’re _tied_.”

“Only a matter of time.  You gonna check that?”

“No,” she snapped in mock petulance.  She was trying her hardest to be mad at him, but all she could think about was his arm around her waist.  “I don’t play with anyone who can’t follow the rules.”

“Ok, fine.  Tell you what- I’ll go get dinner.  You can still pick, and I’ll pay, but I’m driving my own fucking truck.”

“But I really really really wanted to watch you try to squeeze into my car,” she protested.

“Yeah, that is _never_ happening,” he said with a shake of his head.  “What do you want to eat?”

Sansa tossed out the names of a few different restaurants, trying to gauge which one Sandor would like the least- no reason- but his expression remained firmly unreadable.  She finally chose something she actually wanted, and the two of them went to find Bronn and Margaery.

“Hey guys, Sandor’s buying dinner.  You want anything from India Palace?”

“Sandor’s buying dinner?” Bronn echoed.  “Why’s that?” 

“I lost a bet,” he complained. 

“Basketball?” Margaery guessed, nodding her head sympathetically.  “Yeah, Sansa’s really good at basketball.”

“He knows that,” Sansa said.  _“Now.”_

“Two older brothers and a highly-competitive nature will do that to you.  She’s really good at math, too, so if you ever want to bet her again, steer clear of those two subjects.”  Margaery sounded like she was bragging, and Sansa loved her for it.

“Is there anything she _isn’t_ good at?” Sandor asked.

“Geography,” the two friends answered in unison before devolving into giggles.

“Never, and I mean NEVER, let this girl give you directions,” Margaery continued with a shake of her head.  “We went to Daytona for Spring Break one year…”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Sansa shrieked. 

The ‘womenfolk’ decided to split the Malai Kofta, and Bronn asked for Chicken Tikka Masala.  But when Sandor called to place an order, Sansa was dismayed to hear him simply state his name and ask for ‘the usual’ before continuing the rest of the order.  Then he looked over at her and raised his one good eyebrow, and she wrinkled her nose at him so he couldn’t tell she was smiling.  She didn’t know why she assumed he _wouldn’t_ like Indian food, but had to admit that he was just as good at surprising her as she was at surprising him. 

More tiling followed dinner.  They were down to the floor by then, and those tiles were even bigger than the others.  They came in boxes of four, but still so heavy that Sansa couldn’t pick up even one box.  Sandor tossed them around like they were nothing, of course, but that just meant that she got to relax while he brought them in. 

And then they got right down to it.  The tiles were almost comically big for the room, and they had to do a lot of cutting to get the right fit at the walls and around the toilet.  But they worked together well, and got it done as quickly as could be reasonably expected. 

When they were finally through, he went out into the dark to rinse out the bucket while she cleaned up the dregs and detritus from the day with the shop-vac.  The shop-vac was pretty awesome, she decided; she would definitely be buying one of these for her new house.

It was so late at that point and she knew she should really go home.  She hadn’t seen Margaery for hours, and wondered if she should find her to say goodbye, but peeking down the hall, she could see that Bronn’s bedroom door was closed and didn’t want to think about what was happening in there.  Well, she could at least say goodbye to Sandor when he came back in.

Geez, she was beat.  It had been another long day of back-breaking work, and staying up late the previous night hadn’t helped.  She was exhausted, so she flopped down on the couch in the living room.  Her eyes couldn’t have been closed for more than a minute when she heard a sound and opened them to find Sandor crouched down next to her.

“You’re in my bed, little bird.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, ignoring the blatantly suggestive nature of his words.  She sat up and slowly stretched her back, letting out a contented sigh because hell, he wasn’t the only one who could be suggestive.  Jerk.  “I should probably get going.”

She gathered her things and walked to the door for what was the last time, and he walked with her.  He’d never done that before.

“Thanks for all your help,” he rasped, looking down at her with a funny smirk.

“You’re welcome,” she said.  “Thanks for being so patient.  Even though you weren’t really that patient.”  She smiled up at him, being careful to look right in his eyes cause she knew he would like that.  “See ya.”  Then she opened the door and walked outside, and he closed and locked the door without a word.

She walked to her car in a daze.  How funny it was that just a week ago she didn’t want to be here at all.  Just four days ago she had hated him with every fiber of her being.  And now here she was, regretting every step that took her away from him, wondering if that was the last she would ever see him, and wondering why it mattered.  It wasn’t like she even really knew him.  She’d just gotten used to him, that’s all. 

She stopped when she got to her car, looking back at the house, an overwhelming feeling that she’d forgotten something.  She had her keys, her purse, her Tupperware… she didn’t have anything else here.  She wasn’t missing _anything_.  So what was this empty, achy feeling, like she was leaving something behind?  Shaking her head, she unlocked and opened the door.

There was a box in the driver’s seat- hot pink with a multi-striped bow, but no tag and no card.  _Did Margaery leave this?_   It would make sense, since they wouldn’t be seeing each other tomorrow.  Sansa closed the door and locked it, setting the box and her belongings on the seat next to her, resolving to wait until her birthday to open any presents.  But halfway home, while she was sitting alone at a red light, her resolve crumbled and she tore off the bow and opened the box, laughing at what she found. 

It was a stuffed animal- a basset hound, with long floppy ears and big sad eyes.  There was a plastic charm of a little bird dangling from its sparkly pink collar, and when she tilted its fuzzy little face up she could see that its tongue was sticking out.  She knew _exactly_ who it was from.

The light turned green and she set the hound in the passenger seat.  The rest of the drive home she wondered about the appropriate way to respond, or even if she should respond at all.  He hadn’t left any name on it, so maybe it wasn’t really from him; it would be straight-up weird to thank him for it if he wasn’t the one who gave it.  Even though she _knew_ he was the one who gave it.  But maybe he didn’t want a response, maybe it was a ‘nice knowing you’ little thing, just because he knew it was her birthday and thought he was supposed to do something.  It’s not like it was an expensive gift.  It was just… well, pretty thoughtful, actually, she wondered how he even found it.

When she got home, she grabbed the hound and her Tupperware and trudged into the house, heading straight to her room to change.  And wondered, again, how she was supposed to respond.  Later, lying flat on her back in bed, the hound sitting on the pillow next to her, she stared at her phone and thought… maybe just a text.  Something little.  Not a thank you or anything.  Maybe just an emoji.  She scrolled through the ridiculous emoji options on her phone, trying to decide between a little puppy face or a party hat, but ultimately going with a simple smiley face.  She regretted it instantly; it was just so stupid and clichéd.  She definitely should have gone with the puppy face. 

Her fingers hovered over his contact information- it felt disrespectful, somehow, to keep calling him ‘Bad Dog,’ even on her phone; probably shouldn’t call him a dog at all.  And she didn’t want to use his name, because Margaery might see it and then she would just die.  She tossed out all her other options, too, before finally settling on ‘The Hound’ in honor of her little birthday gift. 

And she changed the ring tone to ‘ _Hound Dog’_ so she would know it was him when he called, but he never did.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) "You are positively primeval" is what Belle says to Gaston in 'Beauty and the Beast'  
> 2) 'Sweet Georgia Brown' is the theme song of the Harlem Globetrotters.  
> 3) Was it obvious to everyone that Sandor was getting hustled at basketball?
> 
> I know you probably all hate that ending, but there's one more chapter so don't despair!


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you EVERYONE for reading and commenting, I didn't really expect anyone to like it, LOL. 
> 
> See the end for notes. See it! See the end!

Sansa applied one more swipe of lip gloss and examined herself in the mirror.  Her simple blue sundress was casual but pretty, and she’d done her hair and makeup to be ‘naturally’ beautiful.  She glanced over at the little stuffed hound perched merrily on her pillows and told herself for the 187th time that she was being ridiculous.  _So ridiculous._

Alright, so he never called or texted or _anything_.  So what?  It wasn’t like she actually wanted him to, it was just that she thought he would.  And she’d been wrong, but… it didn’t _mean_ anything, not really.  If anything it just meant that she’d been out of the game too long and couldn’t read the signs anymore.  And maybe it meant it was time for her to date again.  Not him, of course, just… in general.

“I’m leaving, Sansa, let’s go!” 

She left her room and walked quickly down the hall, meeting Loras in the living room.

“You look nice.”

Sansa smiled brightly.  “Thanks.  You look nice, too.”

They were on their way to Bronn’s housewarming party.  Margaery was already there, had been helping to set up all day, so Loras had offered to escort Sansa.  Which was good, because she didn’t really want to go alone.  It had been two weeks since she’d seen the house and it had frankly been a disaster at that point; she was beyond curious to see how it looked now.  Beyond curious about a lot of things. 

By the time they got there, the party was in full swing, so they went straight to the backyard where they could hear music playing and were promptly greeted with a squeal and a hug from Margaery.

“Hey, glad you made it,” Bronn told her as he pressed a drink into her hand. 

“Everything looks great,” she told him truthfully.  The yard was strung with lights and decorations, people milling about, music playing from outdoor speakers.  It was a great yard, she’d always thought so.  She walked with Loras and Margaery out to the large deck by the creek and sipped at her drink, looking around at her fellow party-goers.  There was a fire roaring in the fire pit, and a few people were roasting marshmallows.  It was so quaint. 

And someone was missing.  It would make sense if he was here, but… apparently he was not.  As the evening progressed, she had examined every single person as nonchalantly as possible, but hadn’t found what she was looking for.  Not that she was looking for him.  Why would she be looking for him?  They weren’t even friends or anything, barely acquaintances, it shouldn’t matter to her at all if he decided to show up.  Or not show up, as the case may be.  But why wouldn’t he come to a party at his own house?  The guy was too weird, it was a blessing, really, that she never had to see him again.  Maybe Margaery knew where he was...

“Sansa?”

She whipped her head around to see Margaery squinting at her.

“Are you alright?  You look… flushed.”

Now that she mentioned it, she did feel a little piqued.  “Yeah, I think maybe the heat is getting to me,” she mumbled with a laugh.  “Maybe I need another drink.”

As if he read her mind, Bronn arrived and pressed another drink in her hand.

“Maybe you should go inside for a little while,” Margaery suggested.  “Cool off, rest a bit.”

Sansa glanced at her friend.  “Um… alright.  Maybe I _do_ need to rest a little.”

It was so much nicer inside, thank heavens, and for a moment Sansa just stood there cooling off.  And then she looked around, surveying all the little differences that had been made since she was last here.  They’d done a really nice job, she had to admit, it was so much nicer than the first time she saw it.  The granite countertops were beautiful, as were the new brushed nickel knobs and Pergo floor.  And she remembered, fondly, the times she’d spent sitting cross-legged on this floor, eating whatever take-out was available that day. 

Her eyes wandered from the kitchen to the living room.  That looked really nice, too.  There were curtains- actual curtains- on the big windows in the front, a coffee table with books arranged tastefully, a grandfather clock, a sofa and two recliners, an entertainment center, a television hanging on the wall… light flickering on the carpet from the TV… sounds of SportsCenter drifting into the kitchen…

Moving as quietly as possible, Sansa took several tentative steps towards the living room.  And with every step she could see a little more of the person sitting on the couch watching TV- large brown shoes, dark blue jeans, tan polo shirt, and finally the face she’d been looking for all evening.  Not because she wanted to see him, of course, just because she thought he would be there.  And there he was, legs stretched forward and arms wide on the couch, one hand clutching a Guinness.

_Of course he drinks Guinness._

“Hey.”

His head snapped in her direction, eyes glancing over her, and after a moment he finally responded.  “Hey.”       

“Why aren’t you outside?” she asked, feeling foolish that she was even trying.

He looked like he was thinking something over, then lifted the bottle to his mouth.  “I don’t do fire,” he rasped, and took a long sip.

The firepit.  Right.  “That wasn’t thought out very well, was it?” she said with a small laugh.

“Not my party,” he muttered with a shake of his head, then gave her a hard look.  “Why aren’t _you_ outside?”

“The heat was getting to me.”  Was that a hint?  Did he want her to leave?

“Where’s your date?”

Sansa blinked.  “My… date?  Ohhhh, you don’t know Loras, do you?”

“Is that your date?”

She almost, _almost_ , didn’t say anything, but ultimately she did, even as she fought back a smile.

“Margie’s brother.  I’m not really his type, he’s more into… well, not girls.” 

Ok, so… obviously he had seen her, so he knew she was here, but he didn’t come say hi to her, because he thought she was on a date, and he seemed maybe bothered by it, but he’d never called her or even texted, and right now he seemed sort of dismissive… it was all very confusing.  “The house looks great,” she said amiably.

“Thanks,” he rasped, still looking bored, still not moving.  But then, after another swallow of beer- “Wanna see the rest?”

“Ok.”

She watched him finally drag himself off the sofa and cross the living room till he was standing right in front of her, gazing down at her with practiced indifference.

“Whatcha drinking?”

“Vodka tonic.”

He huffed.  “You seem more a piña colada kind of girl to me.”

“I like piña coladas,” she admitted.  “♫ And getting caught in the rain…♫ ”

He raised one eyebrow at her and turned away with a smirk and she fought back the urge to giggle.  He must have known she didn’t really have any interest in seeing Bronn’s room because he led her straight to his own.  It didn’t escape her conscience that she had just followed a man into his bedroom but she pushed that silliness away.  She’d spent nearly a week in this room, so it wasn’t weird- was _not_ weird- that she was in it now.  Although it was admittedly very different.

“Who decorated?”

He turned to her with an amused look.  “ _I_ did.”

Of course he did.  “It’s nice,” she said meekly.  And it _was_ nice- the floors were stunning, he’d done a really good job on them, and the paint coordinated with the bedspread perfectly.  She noted with amusement that he had quite the assortment of adorable little pillows, and the pictures on the wall were abstract but pretty.  It was a very attractive room and somehow very masculine, despite the little pillows.

He started walking towards the bathroom and flipped the light on as he crossed the threshold, then continued his path towards the tub and sat casually on the surround.

She didn’t expect to be so blown away by the bathroom, especially since she was the one to tile it.  But in truth, it was beautiful.  The tile looked so different with grout, but the bathroom itself also looked smaller now that everything was in that was supposed to be in- the vanity, toilet, shower doors, towel bars, etc.  He had wisely gone with a clear glass shower enclosure which helped the room look bigger.  The vanity with double sinks was a nice cherry color, and the granite top coordinated with the travertine.  But the paint color seemed to bring it all together- it was perfect, really, a soft autumnal yellow that complemented the tile, vanity, and granite.

“Wow,” she said breathlessly, looking around in awe.  “I do _amazing_ work.”  She laughed softly at her own joke but he didn’t say anything, nothing at all.  She moved further into the bathroom and leaned against the end of the vanity, right across from where he was sitting, and gave him a shy smile.

“Did it take a long time to finish?” she asked, hoping to get a conversation going.  If they could just start talking again maybe they could get past all this awkwardness.

“Not really.”  And then they lapsed back into silence.  _So much for that idea._

“I’m surprised you could handle it without me,” she said playfully but he just shook his head at her, very mildly amused, and took another sip at his beer.

Geez, why did he have to be so difficult?  Why did they have to go back to this weirdness instead of just picking up where they left off?  It’s not like she never tried to reach out to him; she had made a gesture in good faith, and he had blown her off.

Although, now that she thought about it, it wasn’t a particularly _grand_ gesture.  The gift he gave her took way more effort and he had even gone through the trouble of wrapping it up and leaving it in her car as a surprise.  In response, she had… texted him.  An emoji.  Maybe she should do something bigger… no!  No, she had made the last move, even if it _was_ small, and now the ball was in his court, and he apparently had no interest in playing.

She was just about to excuse herself when he finally spoke up.  “How’s school?”

His question eased the strain between them and she could feel herself loosen up.  “Ok.  Good, really.  It’s my last semester, so all I have to take now is math.  It’s supposed to be the hardest classes, but math is sort of my _thing_ , so...”

Biting her lip, she glanced over at him and was surprised to see his face twisted into a smile and his eyes bright in amusement.  Geez, she didn’t understand him at _all_.  Was she misreading everything?  The way he was looking at her, she would _swear_ that maybe there was a chance he might be interested in her, but _she_ had made the last (admittedly small) move and still he wasn’t budging.  Maybe she should…

“You never responded to my text.”

He raised one brow at her.  “You texted me?”  She nodded.  “When?”

“A _while_ ago,” she admitted.

“What did you say?”

Uh oh.  Oh no, there was no way to tell him without sounding like a complete idiot.  “It was nothing, really,” she sighed.  “Just a… an emoji.”  Wow, it sounded even worse when she said it out loud.

“An _emoji?”_

“Yeah,” she blushed.  “It’s like… a little picture…”

“I know what it is, fuck, I’m not _90.”_   The words hung between them for what felt like an eternity before he finally continued.  “I don’t get those on my phone.”

She looked at him searchingly.  “You _don’t?”_   He could have been lying, she knew, but when he shook his head she just had a feeling it was the truth.  It wasn’t too hard to believe it, either, when the man owned a crummy old _flip phone_ , but if he never got her text that meant… _he_ had made the last move.    _She_ was the one who had blown _him_ off.      

“Hey, there you are,” Margaery said from the door.  “We were just about to do a toast.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, standing up.  “OK.”

“What do you think of the bathroom?”

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah, way nicer than Bronn’s but that’s cause Bronn took the easy way out and kept that horrid blue tile.”

“Oh, was that an option?”  Sansa looked accusingly at Sandor but he just shook his head.

“Not a very _good_ option,” Margaery countered.  “I know it was a lot more work, but this tile is way better.  You like it?”

“Yeah,” she said softly.  “I like the paint, too.”

“Do you?” Margaery asked.  “I picked it.”

“Like hell you did,” Sandor growled at her.

“Alright fine, Sandor picked it out, but I went to the store and got it, and that’s almost the same thing.”

“Well, good job,” Sansa said with a laugh.  “It’s definitely a put-me-in-a-good-mood kind of color.  This would look nice in our new house.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.  And since you ‘picked it’ I’m assuming you still remember what it is?”

“I sure do,” her friend responded proudly.  “It’s Sherwin Williams interior latex in satin finish.  The color is called ‘Little Bird.’  Now come out to the party, Bronn wants to make a toast.” 

When Margaery asked her later why she’d done it, she hadn’t been able to answer.  Maybe it was the vodka tonic.  Maybe it was the heat.  Maybe the color really _did_ put her in a good mood.  She didn’t know what it was, not really; but _something_ had made her cross the room to close and lock the door.

++++++++++++

“Where _are_ they?”

Bronn was standing at the long table set up on the basketball court, holding his glass of champagne.

“I told them to come out,” Margaery said with a shrug.  “I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

“What were they _doing?”_ he asked.

“They were just in his bathroom talking.  I don’t know what’s taking so long,” she said again. 

Condensation was starting to form on the outside of the glasses sitting full of chilled champagne.  “By the time they get here, the champagne will be hot,” Bronn muttered irritably, setting his glass down.  “I’m going to find them.”

Margaery put her glass down, too, and followed after him.

They crossed the yard crowded with friends and entered through the kitchen door.  No one.  They walked through the dining area and into the living room.  No one.  They turned towards Sandor's room and wandered inside.  Still no one.

But the bathroom door was closed.  Bronn looked down at Margaery, curiosity plain on his face.  Together, they crept towards the bathroom and Margaery gingerly tested the handle.

“It’s locked,” she said quietly.

Their heads went in unison to the door, each pressing an ear to the painted wood.  They waited a few moments, hoping to hear voices, but never did.

“Do you hear water running?” Bronn asked softly.  Margaery nodded at his question, then waved at him to be quiet.  “Are they _showering?”_

Slowly, they stood and faced each other.  Bronn looked at Margaery.  Margaery smiled at Bronn. 

“I _told you_ they would get along,” she said smugly.  Then she took him by the hand and led him back out to the party. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I can hear you all screaming that I cheated you out of the good stuff, and I'm feeling a little guilty not telling you guys exactly what's going on behind that door, lol. So I'm THINKING about doing a follow-up piece. Just one chapter. Anyone who has ever read my stories or my comments knows that trying to write 'sexy times' sends me careening towards a nervous breakdown. But I can try.
> 
> The only thing is, I can't decide how I want to play Sansa. Is she a wide-eyed virgin? Or a wild-eyed vixen? Realistically, she's probably closer to the former, but she's plenty old enough to be the latter. There's something appealing to me about doing nervous Sansa so I'm leaning more towards the first one, but what do you guys think? Option A or Option B? Or heck, maybe I'll do both, and it can be a choose-your-own-adventure ending.


End file.
